1 High Street
by LaPetiteCafe
Summary: Minvera McGonagall could not stand to watch Albus make this mistake. Harry would not grow with the Dursleys. He would grow with her.
1. Chapter 1

She stalks the night streets, a blend of fur and emerald green against the suburban backdrop of England. He does not yet know of her presence, but hesitates to believe that he does not expect it. Dumbledore is a man of many abilities, and perception was one that did not elude him.

"I should have known that you would be here, Professor McGonagall." There is a twinkle in his eye that makes the animagus belligerent enough to shift into her true form. She pushes her shoulders back and matches the stride of her fellow wizard.

"Good evening," she dips her head. "Are the rumors true, Albus?" She knows the boy is not with him, but she cannot help her eyes from checking his person. Once. Twice.

"I'm afraid so, Professor. The good," he pauses, and turns to the night sky. It is a clear evening, the stars are out to shine above them, and Minvera McGonagall still cannot yet help but to feel betrayed by their display of mirth. "And the bad."

"And the boy?" Where had Albus kept him? If the rumors _were_ true, than he should have been with him – with them! For although the master was dead, his followers were still about and she did not want to risk anything at all with their whereabouts still unknown.

"Hagrid is bringing him." They stop just shy of an intersection, the words, 'Privet Drive,' unpresumptuous scrawled on a sign behind them. Minerva did not have anything against muggles, they were mostly either plain or arrogant people. Not so different from the wizards and witches that lurked in her own community, but she wonders how such unassuming creatures could breed such despicable beings at times. Even wizards, for all their magicality, only grew to be deplorable with intelligence. These muggles that Albus had chosen for the boy, well – Minvera shook her head. They were neither intelligent or special enough to be so selfishly arrogant.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid swoops in. Loudly, Minvera notes in disdain. No matter the amount of charms they had placed around them, she cannot help but internally chastise the unnesccary noise the groundskeeper is creating. "Professor McGonagall."

"No problems, I trust, Hagrid?" Dumbledore smiles, privy to the irk which Hagrid's motorcycle had elicited from his female companion. Minvera frowns.

"No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep just as we were flying over Bristol," Hagrid chuckles as he produces a swaddle of blankets from behind him. "Try not to wake him up. There you go." He hands over the boy to Albus's waiting arms, and Minvera instinctively looms over his shoulder to grab sight of him. Harry is a tiny baby, a little on the heavier side, with pale skin and dark hair. If he had been awake, Minvera was sure he would have the same eyes as his father. Mischievous and plotting. Trouble, which his new family would doubtlessly condemn.

"Albus, do you really think it's safe, leaving him with these people? I've been watching them all day," she shuffles her hands into the warmth of her sleeves. "They're the worst sort of muggles imaginable. They really are - "

"The only family he has." Dumbledore halts the conversation as they stop outside a house.

He is unaware of the depth of McGonagall's feelings about this matter. They would smite the magic and joy out of this boy, and she knows Lily and James deserved better than that. "This boy will be famous," she tries one more time. "There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name."

"Exactly." There is a finality in his tone, one that Minvera knows to acknowledge. "He's better off growing up away from all that." She knows to acknowledge his decision – Albus always knows best, however, one glance at the sleeping child tells her sometimes his best is not what is best for everyone. For Harry.

"Until he is ready." Albus's voice is a droning whisper as the traitorous thoughts drown out everything in Minvera's head. She only knows the boy, and her fair Lily and troublemaking James. Hagrid sniffs.

"There, there Hagrid – " Dumbledore comforts.

"Ma – may I hold, him, Albus?" Minvera chokes out the words. "Just once."

Albus knows all, or assumes to know all, and believes blindly enough that Minerva's sentimentality is just that. Sentiments. He hands the swaddle over to her, and just as both blanket and boy are secured in her arms, there is a loud, resonating - _snap! –_ and both she and blanket and boy are gone.

Hagrid's tears are reduced to silent shock. "S – sir!" He finally manages to catch up with reality, and he fixes a shocked wide-eyed gaze at the headmaster.

Dumbledore is a man of many abilities, and perception was one that did not elude him. His eyes twinkle like the stars above and he turns to his only remaining companion, an ever-complacent smile on his face. "Do drive soundly, Hagrid?" He nods his head at him before disappearing with a loud snap himself.

"Sir?"

When Minvera settles the boy into a conjured, makeshift crib, she stalls in the doorway assessing the levity of her actions. For one, Albus would not be charmed with them. But on another note, he had not chased her back to her home yet – so perhaps he was not happy but not too angry about the recent course of events.

Of course, she checks herself – she could also be wrong. And perhaps she was, since approaching her humble abode is the headmaster himself. She sighs and departs the temporary nursery to greet him.

"Albus," she opens the door and with a wave of her hand, the teapot in her kitchen begins to boil some water. "It would be a slander against Lilly and James to leave him with such –"

Albus is tall, he towers over her and all her furniture, yet he does not leer over anything. Simply put, he fixes himself into a wooden chair by her hearth, quelling the night's chill on his hands. "I will not pretend to be fine with your decision, Minerva - you have not only painted a target on your back, but also on young Harry's as well."

"He's always been a target, Albus," Minerva quietly settles herself on the opposing side of the fireplace. She knows of the repercussions, but they do not bother her - not as much as leaving Harry to his only family would have.

"I cannot protect you," he sighs. "But I can hide you."

A fine set of china whisks into the space between them as the prepped tea is poured into their respective cups. Minerva allows two teaspoons of sugar to be poured into her cup before she sentences both her and Harry's lives to the unknown. "We will not hide, Albus. Harry will grow under the name he was born into, in his rightful wizarding community, without protection, and without false identities."

* * *

A/N: _What if, you know? I've only briefly edited this by the way, and I'm not as used to using present tense as I am past - so I apologize for any errors in this chapter. When I have time, I will hopefully be able to fix everything._

 _Hope you all liked it!_


	2. Chapter 2

_He will be Harry Potter, and the world will know him as the boy who will grow up to accomplish many things. He will be what they call him – for he_

 _"_ \- is the Boy who Lived! That's Harry Potter! That's him!"

Harry tightens the scarf around him and continues his walk towards Dogsweed and Deathcap, the baneful herbology shop that Aunt McGonagall always seemed to send him to for his weekly errands. If she had some underlying desire to see him flourish into a herbologist, she was wishing for the impossible. The chime above the door jingles as he steps foot into the musk-scented shop. The wizard manning the counter is nowhere in sight, but Harry is familiar enough with the layout of the room to be able to spot the ingredients he has on the list. Carefully, he reaches up and grabs the nearest pair of gloves from an adjacent shelf and shoves them on. Snipping leaves here and there, Harry accumulates a decent pile of weeds and petals before the owner of the shop finally makes an entrance through the backdoor. Upon sighting Harry's familiar mop of ragged brown hair, he chuckles and begins itemizing his purchases.

"On an errand again, Potter?" he inquiries. Lewis is old and humble, and knows better than to treat the infamous boy with anything more than the regular hospitality. However, in the past few years he notices that it has become increasingly difficult to see the boy as anything but a nephew of his with the amount of times he has frequented the shop. He also knows Minerva, and how little of a fan she is in concern to herbology.

"The usual," Harry provides the correct amount of coin for the purchase as Lewis places everything into a respectable bag. He hands it all over to Harry, just as a whirlwind of blue and silver stumbles through the front door.

"Father!" Evangeline Brussels looks nothing like her father, and holds no love for his plants and flowers either. However, she is kind like him, and greets Harry by mussing up his hair before she dropping a small pot of tentacle-like leaves on the countertop. "Special delivery, courtesy of some mistress over in Wales."

 _Wales?_ Harry figures he had fixed on her an incredulous look as she turns to him with a wink. "You were in Wales? But you've been here for the past week!"

The girl laughs. "Oh, _Harry,"_ she fixes the scarf around his neck. "So young and naïve. You'd think Professor McGonagall has taught you everything already." It's a touchy subject for Harry, but nevertheless he shakes his head. Minerva McGonagall, the woman who's raised him since his parent's death, was but a ghost at their cottage home. Too busy with Hogwarts, she was either always at the school or in her study. She is all he could ever ask for, however, given that she had saved him from his arrogant, magic-phobic relatives; their impromptu Quidditch nights a testament to how much she tries for him.

He manages a small smile, and he's confident it comes across more as a grimace, but Evangeline takes it and ushers them both out the door. "I will see you later, father!"

Harry stumbles to keep up with her long strides. "Have any more chores, Harry? Have any time to spare for little ol' me?" McGonagall had always been lenient with how Harry spent his time. As long as he did his chores, kept up with his readings, and came home in time for supper, she did not put a leash on who he went out with or how he spent his leisure time. He told the older girl the following and she gladly takes his free hand to guide him over to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. She seems to spot a few familiar faces upon entering the overly feminine shop, but otherwise does not approach them and steers Harry over to corner booth.

"When you grow up Harry, you must take your girlfriend here." She orders for both of them, some sweet concoction only privy to the store, and leans back against her chair.

Harry pushes his purchases over to the corner as he observes the superfluous decorum of the shop. "Must?" he repeats, noting how half of the patrons consist of couples.

Evangeline nods her head, her black hair following each dip. "Yes, _must,"_ she closes her eyes. "Or else you two will not be official. Here," the orders arrive, and Harry counts not two but three glasses of pink liquid. "It won't turn you into a girl, Harry," Evangeline takes out her wand and waves it over the third drink, covering the top with a lid of ice. "For Professor McGonagall, tell her its from me – and maybe I'll get a better score from her class this upcoming year."

Harry takes a chance and a sip of the drink, finding it not overtly sweet or special. Just warming and savory, like the cookies Aunt McGonagall sometimes makes when her classes become too overbearing. "It's good!" He meets Evangeline's grin tooth for tooth as they calmly finish their meal with two blueberry muffins and one shared hot chocolate.

By the end of it, Harry finds his stomach protesting at the intake of coy sweets as Evangeline pays for their food. "Until this fall, Harry!" she pats his shoulder as they exit the shop. Harry manages a nod as he watches her figure disappear among the throngs of black and gray cloaked wizards and witches. He wonders what special event there was in the fall until he quickly realizes that the sun has set and he had but less than half-an-hour to return home. Hugging the brown bag of weeds and petals, he fixes his scarf to sit higher over his face before he sprints towards the cottage.

The door swings wide open, prepared for his return. "Aunt McGonagall, I've got the herbs!" He rambunctiously shoves and locks the door close, and shakes the dandruff of snow off his clothes. Despite it being summer, wizards-in-practice found a way to create a climate catastrophe in the midst of all the heat. The Ministry of Magic spent at least one week trying to be rid of it, but found that they could only contain the mistake to Hogsmeade – a compromise they were willing to be content with while they punished the young wizards responsible for the mess.

"Put them in my study, Harry – gods know, I can't do anything outside with the snow and all." Minvera mutters. She is clothed in dark greens, and has her hair tied off in its traditional chignon. She is the very picture of rules and academia, but without the severity she often carries in her features. She sighs as she takes in Harry's winter-kissed cheeks and the pink glass of Madam Puddifoot's infamous concoction. "Run in with Evangeline, again?" she takes the drink and moves it towards the kitchen. "Tell that girl that bribing will not get her extra points in my class."

Harry hangs his scarf on a hook and maneuvers himself towards the study. The doors creak open on their own accord, revealing a circular room full of stacked books and floating parchments of aged paper. He gently steps through the maze of student reports to get to his Aunt's immaculate desk; clear of everything but a quill and an inkpot, he puts the bag of herbs in the middle before making a quick and careful retreat into the living room. The smell of supper wafts through the small cottage, tempting Harry to pilfer a taste from one of the pots, but he knows better and plops himself into the large couch.

"I think she knows that by now," Harry grabs today's edition of the Daily Prophet and flips it open to the section containing news about last night's Quidditch game. Minvera enters the room, both hands orchestrating the going-ons in the kitchen.

"Well, she's a Ravenclaw, Harry – she knows," Minerva shoots a glare at his feet curled on the couch, and does not continue on until he shuffles his shoes off to resume his position. "At this point, she's simply choosing not to remember."

A lightbulb goes off in his head. "Hogwarts!" his eyes search for his Aunt but she is no longer in the room anymore. Instead, he hears the unmistakable sound of running water and realizes that supper is almost done. Putting the newspaper back on the side table, he rushes to fix the table just as Minerva returns with the meals floating above her head.

"And what of Hogwarts, Harry?" her green eyes dim in the candlelight.

"I go this year, don't I?" he tries not to sound too expectant about the idea, but after having spent an afternoon with one of the school's students, and a lifetime with one of its professors, his eyes are left just a tad bit too wide and brimming with excitement.

McGonagall lifts a spoon up to her lips, savoring the unsuspected curling aftertaste. "You've yet to touch your meal, Harry." She is dancing around the topic, she knows. She shouldn't – the boy had been stealing stories both from her, their neighbors, friends, and even shopkeepers about the school when he thought his victims were none the wiser. At the same time, his own magic kept bubbling mayhem, breaking pots, disappearing windows, and burning scrolls. She is both apprehensive and excited for the boy to finally unravel his powers and learn how to hone them. Yet his dedication to his assigned studies, (courtesy of her), and his small outbursts of magic also has her wanting to delay the letter just a little bit more; it had arrived through owl post one week ago, and both Dumbledore and Hagrid had been pestering her to give it to him in their own concealed and bumbling way.

Unfortunately, Harry is stubborn like his father. He does not see a dead topic until it slaps his face, and he multitasks eating and talking at his aunt. "Evangeline told me she'll see me this fall, and I saw Mrs. Weasley the other day buying clothes for the twins – "

"Harry." The chattering stops, the boy looks up from his bowl. "Finish your reading on the game last night, and then it's off to bed." Dead topic? Meet Harry's face.

The boy visibly deflates as he helps move the emptied dishes towards the sink. He takes his Aunt's bowls and utensils as well before vacating the kitchen and dining room altogether. Harry falters by the living room, eyes lingering on the abandoned Daily Prophet, before he makes his way upstairs to his room. Thoughts of Hogwarts have defeated his interest in the latest match, and he is seven seconds shy from staying long enough to meet the headmaster of the school of his dreams.

Quietly, the fire in the living room changes from a warm orange-red to a neon green – its tendrils reaching just a bit too high than normal. However, this change is miniscule, the colors return to orange and leave a tall wizard rising from the floor in its wake.

"You really must get a higher fireplace, Minerva." Albus feels his age as his back whines in protest to him stretching it out. He sidesteps the modest furniture and gratefully accepts the waiting cup of tea.

"There is always the front door, Albus." She bewitches the broom in the corner and has it clean the soot that the headmaster trails into the kitchen. "I assume you are here about the letter?"

Albus's eyes twinkle. "Letter? I have no idea what you are talking about. I'm just here to inquire if you've heard about the latest batch of first years we are receiving this upcoming year." He does not miss a beat.

"Harry will there, Albus, I will not deny him that." Minerva has protected Harry from the worst of the wizards. Has kept him as sheltered as she could; set curfews, limited who came in contact with him, censored news. However, she has no doubt that once he learns of how far her influence has stretched across his life, he would retaliate – run away. Harry is so much like his father, that it still surprises her that they have managed to evade large quarrels to this date.

"And so, that visit to Durmstrang and Koldovstroetz..?" he hums.

Minerva gathers her cloak, pulls it closer to her person. "The latter one was purely because of interest, Albus," she beckons for the whistling teapot to pour more tea into her cup. "Durmstrang is too cold. Too far."

"And Harry should be closer to home, to his family's roots," Dumbledore agrees. The words wash over Minerva like a frigid wind. Her eyes betray her, instinctively narrowing on the headmaster. For years, they have danced around the boiling subject concerning Harry's upbringing, and for years, they have willingly conceded to stalemates. Minerva had a mind to send Harry to the glacial school, but knew the boy would only learn how to foster anger in that institute – all her work would be undone. Koldovostroetz, a school hidden in the depths of Russia, would have been her other option – but ultimately, she knew where he belonged – at Hogwarts. Flying tree trunks instead of broomsticks were interesting, but they were not convincing enough to send him to the unknown. Harry belonged in Hogwarts.

With her, with his parents' legacy – under Dumbledore's watching eyes.

 _"Aunt McGonagall, why do they give me weird eyes?" She is too old for this, too inexperienced for this responsibility. But she braves on and hefts the six-year-old with the scar on his forehead, onto her knee. She fixes his shirt, runs her fingers through his hair, and wishes she were able to ignore those beseeching eyes._

 _"Who gives you weird eyes, Harry? The wizards?" she knows the answer._

 _"And witches! And goblins and an-"_

 _"You are special, Harry." McGonagall plants the seed. "You are the B -"_

 _"Boy Who Lived!" Harry's bright green eyes flash. They are the same color as Lily's, but they do not express like hers. They squint and harden, and narrow like the fire that raged behind James' eyes. And James had not a righteous flame like his wife, but one that was untamed and unruly, weak to emotion and free of careful thought. Minerva had to tread carefully._

 _"But no one calls you the Witch that Lived! Or Mr. Jules as the Werewolf that Lived. What makes me so special? "the storm brewed quietly in the shores of Harry's irises. "Is it the scar?" his hand stretched to cover the lightning mark._

 _"No, Harry," she forced a laugh. "It's because of your parents." She didn't protect him from his truth. From the day he could comprehend, Minerva had told him about their death, about how they protected him from the forces of evil – from Voldemort._

 _"My parents? The ones who left me?" Ice crept around Minerva's chest. She forced Harry's blurry eyes to look at her._

 _"They left to protect you. They died because they loved you, Harry – and they still do," she had to convince him that Lily and James were not names to be forgotten. They were not people who had died in vain. "They died to save you and the other little boys and girls like you. They died to be your heroes."_

 _Big, fat tears rolled down Harry's plump cheeks. "But why am_ I _the only one they call the Boy Who Lived? Why couldn't someone else protect us instead?"_

 _"Because no one else in the world was brave enough to save the world._

 _Because no one but them saw the good anymore._

 _Because they knew their life was worth giving if it meant you could survive and pass on their story. About –"_

 _"Being stupid?!" Harry was inconsolable to the passing eye, but Minerva had faith in the hiccupping child furiously rubbing his eyes._

 _"About love," she called over a clean cloth to gently dab at his eyes. "People look at you differently because they want to see the love that was greater than evil. They are jealous of you Harry, because they have never seen such strong of a love in their life. They are hoping that you could one day show them an inkling of it. So that they too, may know how it feels like to be loved so much. "_

 _"in – inl – inkl-" his tiny nose scrunched up. "In – ink – inkling?"_

 _Minerva lifted the boy up and set him against her hip. Together, they made their way to the kitchen and she placed him upon a clear space on the counter. She began to collect the ingredients for her mother's cookies. "Inkling," she nodded. "An idea."_

 _The bowls magically assorted themselves and the eggs began hopping out of the refrigerator. "S – so, I am special because my pa – parents loved me?" his fingers stretched out to reach for the levitating whisk. It teased him, flitting in and out of his reach before flying over to the bowl._

 _Minerva wiped the remaining tears off of his face._

 _"So much, Harry. They loved you so much."_

"He only knows you as the muggle Santa Claus, to this day, did you know that, Albus?" Minerva turns the tiny spoon in her tea to stir the settled honey. Albus' eyes twinkle, and the Professor of Transfiguration again wonders if he is a covert clairvoyant. No one could possibly know so much as he did, yet for some reason, she still feels as if had been privy to her inner turmoil seconds before.

"I will be sure to remedy that this upcoming school year, Minerva. As for another worry of mine, Professor Quirinus Quirrell has made an application to become the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Snape has been an ardent advocate against it, while the others are tentative about the proposed transfer." He leans against the chair.

"He is returned from his sabbatical? And what of Galatea?" Minerva's stature shifts. She takes the seat across from Dumbledore and folds her hands in front of her – her tea finding itself abandoned by the crook of her elbow.

Albus sighs. "Professor Merrythought is old, Minerva, very old. We were fortunate enough that she had agreed to cover last year's position. I have a thought to reach out to Horace, however –"

"You will get nowhere with that man," agrees Minerva. "And what are Severus's reasons to object the transfer," she pauses. "Aside from desiring that role?"

Dumbledore smiles. "Suspicions. He is concerned that Quirinus has spent his sabbatical looking for the Dark Lord and his supporters."

"Albus!" Harry did not need any supporters of his parents' murderers teaching him. Nor did he need to be in contact with any of them at all in his lifetime.

"Do not worry, I am very doubtful that he has been successful. As such, I see no reason to deny him his transfer. I am merely seeking your opinion and if you had any other suggestions for the position." He spreads his palms open on the table.

She sighs. "Amelia Bones – she is in training to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If you find fault in Quirrell, I can send her an owl and see if she would be willing to become a temporary professor if time permits her. She was a lovely woman to work with, and was equally a wonderful student to teach. However," she reaches out for her teacup. "If Snape only has suspicions and you, yourself find no fault in him, then I will support his transfer."

Dumbledore dips his head. "Thank you, Minerva. Your sound reasoning is always a joy to have in my counsel." He stands up.

"Tell young Harry, happy birthday from Santa Claus, for me tomorrow, will you?" He glances at the boy's baby picture hanging behind his acquaintance's head. "Good night, Minerva."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry is stirring the dying embers, his mind everywhere but in the present. Thoughts of Hogwarts had haunted is dreams the previous night; Ron was in the lead, talking about the latest Quidditch game with his twin brothers, and he had been following them, immersed in the play-by-play commentary until all of a sudden, a gust of wind pushed him back – away from the others. The heavy iron gates closed upon him and Ron and the cluster of students were all but tiny dots on the horizon. He shouted at them to wait for him, yelled at the gates to open, reached for his wand for a spell – his wand –

He didn't have a wand.

He didn't have a wand now, either. Harry lets out a heavy sigh as he falls on the back of his heels. Aunt McGonagall had never taken him to Ollivander's, had never drawn close to it, and despite all his visits to the wandmaker's store – he had been dejectedly asked to leave the premise for he was underage, and the old man did not want to tempt the Ministry of Magic to come and visit him.

But now he is eleven, and McGonagall has left both a cold cake and letter in her leave for the school; he had yet to receive his own letter of invitation from Hogwarts as well. He wonders if he is to remain both wandless and uneducated this year.

" _Anyone home?"_ He is awakened from his grievous thoughts when a rumbling knock resonates throughout the wooden cottage. The voice is loud and feels as large as the shadow which looms over the window. Harry only needs a glance to see that the visitor is none other than Rubeus Hagrid and instantly, a grin splits across his face.

Bounding to his feet, he unlatches the lock and pushes himself into Hagrid's waiting arms. "What are you doing here?" he allows the giant to shake him off his feet before setting him on the path towards the town center. Familiar cobblestoned roads begin to peep up among the dirt road as the winter spell slowly begins to lift itself off the city. "Aunt McGonagall's already left to take care of things for the school."

Hagrid easily lumbers beside him to match the younger boy's short strides. "Oh, I know. I'm here to help you buy your things for school." They make a turn at the same time to enter the shopping district, both of their feet well-versed with the layout of Hogsmeade.

"School? _I'm going to Hogwarts?!"_ Hagrid's kaughter is a booming, welcoming sound as he a crumpled letter is shoved into his tiny hands. Harry is unbothered by its appearance as he rips the candlewax off to scan over the fine writing. Truly, he is going to Hogwarts and Hagrid would be helping him buy his supplies.

However, he frowns as he reads the signature at the end of the note. "Santa Claus?" he repeats once, then again, loudly for Hagrid's ears to hear. "Why is Santa Claus signing off my letter?"

A large hand ruffles his already unkempt hair. "Oh, you'll see, Harry. You'll see soon enough."

* * *

The store appears to be more unwelcoming now that his actual time has come to receive a wand, but Ollivander's is the nearest wandmaker in all of Britain, and Harry has no other option but to walk in and get one. He casts one more searching look in the street around him, willing for Hagrid's large, bulky frame to appear, but after countless seconds past looking through the hordes of wizards and witches, his presence doesn't appear, and Harry is left to sigh, and walk through the door. The helpful man had his own duties to accomplish that day, and Harry would not delay both of their time just so he could assuage his anxiety.

Quietly, he wonders if anyone is about. There are shelves of wands everywhere in the dimly lit room, cobwebs lining corners, and dust collecting on everything but the counter. There is everything but life in the store, and softly, Harry calls out again. "Hello? Hello?"

There is a loud _thunk!,_ a cough, and some shuffling, before a man sweeps into the room on a ladder. He spots Harry, and his lips crack a smile. Finally, he is welcomed.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you again, Mr. Potter. It seems only yesterday that you were here, trying to get a wand five years too early," there is a lilt in his voice, as he procures one box from one of the interminable shelves that lined the store. "Here, try this."

Harry holds the wooden stick, fingers feeling clumsy against the wide end, and gives it a wave. Shelves come crashing down, forcing Harry to hurriedly shove the wand back in its case. He chances a side glance at Ollivander, and while surprised, does not seem remorseful about the turn of events. Instead, he grabs another wand for Harry to try, only to take it back once the boy manages to shatter a vase.

"No, no definitely not that one!" he chuckles as his thoughts wander over to his older creations. A thought disturbs and provokes him to grab one box in the back, heavily coated in dust. Without another pause, he hands it over to Harry. The boy does not wave it, yet from the wand seems to blare a soft beacon of light. His face glows under it, and Ollivander takes a step back.

"Curious, very curious…"

"I'm sorry?" Harry does not try to return the wand, and assuages Ollivander's suspicions. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter," he begins, closing the box it was previously contained in. He blows the veneer of dust on top and beseeches a bag to come over. He drops the box inside and passes it over to Harry. "The wand chooses the wizard. It's not always clear why, but I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you after all."

He steps back, as if retreating behind the safety of his counter. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things too, you know. Great, terrible things…but great."

Harry remains speechless, unsure on how to address the comment about his parents' murderer. He was sure that the man was powerful, but other than delve into the history of the magic community in general, McGonagall hardly ever broached the topic with him. He didn't touch it either, for fear of unraveling both their pasts; his eyes always smartly glazed past the picture frame of the smiling man on top of the mantle of the fireplace.

There is a knock on the window, and both turn to spot Hagrid's friendly face waving Harry to come outside. The boy pauses, his thoughts stuttering over Ollivander's words, but ultimately, his body seeks the escape from the sudden chill in the room and he leaves the store with a nod of his head and a mumbled expression of gratitude.

The overwhelming, bustling noise of the street vanquishes the cold in Harry's chest.

"Happy Birthday Harry!" The giant brandishes a strangely wrapped present, and it is only then that Harry realizes it is in the form of a cage. A piercing hoot confirms his suspicions even more as he strips the wrapping off to reveal a speckled Snowy Owl. All thoughts of Ollivander and the mention of his parents' murderer are purged from his head.

"Wow! Thank you, Hagrid!" He takes the knot of chains on top of the cage and brings the bird closer for an inspection. She is beautiful, and Harry beams. He thanks Hagrid again as they shuffle towards the narrower streets of Hogsmeade.

"No matter, boy. We have a dinner to go to after we drop off your things." They traverse back onto a path home. "Last I heard, Molly's been cooking since the break of dawn."

Harry stammers, unable to form a coherent reply. The Weasleys were a wonderful family of redheads, who he had only made acquaintance with when he and McGonagall stumbled upon the twins and their mother in Hogsmeade two years ago. Both were ardent supporters of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and had talked animatedly about the sport with Harry. They were incessant and endearing, but ultimately tiring as well. McGonagall saved the night and both their ears by promising to bring him over to their house one day with the claim that he needed more friends to bother. Since then, Harry had been a welcome addition to the family, but at the end of the day, he always retired back home to the cottage to bask in the quaint melody of crackling wood and McGonagall's quiet swearing concerning her work.

"Will you be coming?" the cottage door swings open for him, as it is enchanted to do and allows both Hagrid and Harry to file through the door and into the empty cottage. Now that Harry knows he is going to Hogwarts, he is no longer bothered by the eerie silence that the cottage seems to always be trapped in upon McGonagall's return to the castle. Every enchanted utensil and appliance still worked on a timely routine, but without her reprimanding and rectifying touch, they seemed like cold clockwork things.

"Of course! Who else would be bringing, yer? Now go pack up, you'll be staying with the Weasleys till you leave for school." Hagrid takes out a miniature trunk from his pocket and gestures for Harry to tap it with his new wand. He does so, and the latches quickly unstrap themselves as the thing grows to its actual size. Harry peers inside and spots a small letter inside. The only thing in the vast luggage. Scrawled on it is his name in the familiar cursive he knows to associate with McGonagall. He pockets the letter, saving its contents for later perusing.

"Now chop to it, boy! Don't want to keep Molly waiting!" Harry grins, shakes his head, and meanders up the staircase.

 _The Leaky Cauldron was not an ideal place for a small child to be wandering through. But McGonagall had a conference downstairs, with a special individual unable to lurk in the barest presence of sunlight, and so, he had been left under the dismissive eye of the barkeeper for the duress of the meeting. He was bored, just shy of being nine-years-old, and no patron looked friendly enough to approach. Thus he sat on a stool by the barkeeper, legs dangling off the floor as he entertained his time blowing the hair out of his eyes. Aunt McGonagall typically charmed his scar away from the visible eye, much to Harry's comfort, but had forgotten to do so today. She had also forgotten to trim his fringes, and so, while he was saved from the leering and wide-eyed looks, he was also irritated at the tendrils poking at his eyes. He hoped the meeting would end soon so he could drag her to get his haircut done._

 _"Fred! George! Stop this nonsense right now or none of you will be flying this year!" There was the sound of boisterous laughter before a whirlwind of red, brown, and yellow was followed out the door by a plump woman with vivacious red hair. Some patrons muttered under their breath, no doubt complaining about the disturbance, but Harry's attention was elsewhere. He paid no mind to their muddled words and focused on the chirping, mechanical contraption hopping about the floor. He jumped off his stool and picked it up. It looked like a mutated bird, but motorized. It was chirping and ticking, and without a thought, Harry made chase for the mother of the tornado that whisked through the floors of the Leaky Cauldron. The barkeeper paid no mind to his disappearance._

 _"Excuse me!" Harry's tiny voice was too soft against the rush of the crowds as he followed the sound of the plump woman's berating. He knew that if he kept his pace up, he would eventually lose both sight and sound of her, and thus, he made the decision to hop onto a nearby crate and climb onto the sloping roof of the nearby store. The worn brown shingles were trembling beneath his feet, but Harry paid no mind to it as he carefully traversed from one roof and onto the next. Eventually, his ears and eyes zoned in on a crowd of three redheads amassed under a bookstore's awning. The building he was on top of was too far from theirs, but that was no longer a problem. The mother scolding the twins –_ they were twins _! – spotted him and gave out an ear-splitting shriek._

 _"Young boy, get down from there!" she screeched while her sons grinned up at him._

 _"How'd you get up there, mate!" "That's so cool!" Harry smiled back down at them as he held up the chirping bird in his hand; its chirping and ticking shriller than before. The twins stopped admiring his skills as they spotted the bird in his hand. The mother's eyes grew wide as well. She whipped out her wand just as Aunt McGonagall's pointed hat popped up in the sea of black and gray._

 _"Accio!" the bird lifted out of his palm and soared towards the triplet. Midway through its travel, it exploded into a bright red flash, showering the crowd beneath it in glitters and purple goo. Harry's mouth dropped open until his eyes found his Aunt's trademark hat dripping in said glitter and goo. Thankfully, that piece of accessory took the brunt of the attack as it was carefully lifted off her head. She fixed him an incriminating look as he suddenly found himself beside her shaking form._

 _"Fred! George!"_

 _"Harry!"_

"Harry!" Someone is shaking him. "Harry, wake up!" He groans, but his eyes part open. Everything is an unfocused kaleidoscope mess of shapes and colors; everything is blurry, and he reaches out for his glasses.

"Here!" They are shoved onto his face, and Harry blinks a few times to readjust to the brightness of the room. He quickly realizes that it is not the sun stunning him, but the mass of red hair catching its ray. "Ron," he sits up just as his friend pushes himself off him and continues his grab for his strewn-about clothing.

"Morning, Harry! Mum's already made breakfast downstairs if you're hungry," Ron is a waterfall of words as he dashes to and fro from all corners of his attic room. "Said I still have to finish packing before I can eat, but you're good to go," he nods to himself. "A letter came in saying your stuff's been already dropped off at the castle."

Harry observes Ron for a few more seconds, lingering on the edge of dreams and reality before he shuffles towards the nearest pile of clothes, picks them up, and drops them unceremoniously into Ron's open luggage. The redhead isn't bothered by the unruly help as he pats his mate on the back in gratitude before jumping onto the behemoth that is his trunk. "Snap the latch close for me, will you, Harry?"

Said boy acquiesces to the command with no complaint, and together, the two of them manage to finish packing the youngest attending Weasley's garments into the remaining trunk in record time. Basking in the heat of the new day, they simultaneously wipe off the sweat on their brows before running downstairs.

"Where've you two been?" squalls Mrs. Weasley. Harry grins to contrast Ron's mumbled excuses as he grabs one of the two last remaining plates on the table. Their dining table is a patchwork of different wood and tablecloth, all littered with emptied plates.

"Where's the food?" Ron roars as the twins all pop by him to ruffle already tangled hair. They laugh in reply and nod at Harry.

Molly Weasley is a miraculous woman and suddenly reappears by her youngest son's side. She gives his head a whack with a wooden ladle before conjuring an egg, two slices of bacon, and a stack of pancakes onto their plates. "If you'd gotten up on time there would have been more to pick from." She weaves her way towards Harry, a tiny teapot of syrup following her. "Just tell it when to stop, Harry." She smiles at the boy before resuming her original position by the foot of the winding staircase.

"Fred, George, Percy, and Ginny! Hurry up! Train's about to leave soon!" she hollers up at the rickety wooden steps.

Just as Harry finishes drowning his pancakes with syrup, Ron sidles up into the vacant seat next to him. With a mouth full of eggs and bacon, he comments, "we could always take a portkey – blimey things are faster anyway."

"But they're banned on Hogwarts," Harry combats. He recalls being lectured by his Aunt on this. Hogwarts, like the rest of the schools out there, has no known address. Its location is a secret to all but its few, trusted faculty. Even the students are never told of its location, and the only guaranteed entrance to it was through the train. Other secret passages remain close-guarded, and instant transportation like portkeys and apparition techniques were regulated by old magic; if you are not approved to enter, you would be redirected someplace else.

"Yes, right you are, Harry – you, bright lad," Arthur walks into the kitchen just as the rest of his children stumble down the stairs. Ginny, his vibrant child, glows upon his arrival and shackles herself to his side. "Everyone packed and ready to go?"

Harry and Ron stuff their faces with half of pancakes that are on their plate before the rise to help carry the trunks and suitcases which Fred and George have taken down for them. However, Molly shakes their aid away and with a flick of her wand, persuades the luggage into the burning green fire. "Everyone form a nice straight line," she instructs, letting her husband and only daughter disappear through the flames first. "Remember, say, King's Cross Station, clearly!"

Harry watches everyone grab their handful of floo powder and enunciate the destination. He isn't foreign to the use the Floo Network, he had about at least a handful of experiences using it for travel, but still – he is still wary of it. He lets Ron reach into the flower pot containing the green powder first and smiles as his friend disappears with a shout.

"It's only you now, Harry, go on," cajoles Molly. Harry nods at her and braves himself for the sensation of the trip.

"King's Cross Station!"

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading thus far! I know it's a bit rough still - this tense is really off-putting. Anyway, if you have not referred to my profile page, that is where I post my update schedules. As of now I'm aiming for once a week beginning next week 1/15/18, since the semester begins again. If that fails, I'll adjust it accordingly.

Another notice: I will be doing time skips, I'm not planning on retelling the whole entire series chapter by chapter of the books. I will be skipping around as it goes, but expect that the first year will be spent a bit more time on as I layout changes to the whole plot.

Hope this was okay!


	4. Chapter 4

The train is traveling through unknown country, plains of green interrupted by sloping hills and spurts of forest the only scenery to view since departure. Harry is alone in his compartment, and he wishes it weren't so. This is his first time going to Hogwarts, despite having a professor as his aunt, he has never been to the famous school of witchcraft and wizardry. He has expectations, stories from a few students both old and present, to paint the portrait of it, but words are different from reality, and he is in desperate need of Ron's endless chatter to chase away his nerves.

He looks over to the open door just in time to see his red-haired companion squeeze in. "Everywhere else is full, Harry – you wouldn't believe how many people go to this school."

Harry shrugs. He has seen the amount of student work his aunt has had to correct over the past few years; he isn't too surprised by the news. "Which house do you thin –"

A trolley stops outside their compartment, and a graying lady greets them with a smile. She pushes their door completely open to give them a full view of her cart full of sweets. Harry hears Ron's stomach before he catches the lady's words. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

He couldn't really blame him, though, they had rushed through their breakfast. However, he watches as Ron's protroduing chest slowly deflates to flatten his spine against the leather seat. "No thanks," he produces two smashed sandwiches from the depths of his pockets. Probably courtesy of Molly, Harry notes. He squints his eyes and realizes they are leftovers from last night's dinner. "I'm all set."

The lady's smile does not falter, and Harry is grateful for that. He knows enough to acknowledge that his guest stay at the Weasley's for the past two weeks was trying on their pockets. He digs into his jeans and finds a handful of coins. "We'll take the lot, ma'am!"

"Woah!" Ron gapes at the money while the stewardess's eyebrows shoot up.

"S – sure, young lad," she steps forward, her perfume of flowers and candy overfilling the compartment as she collects the coins. She returns to her cart to stow them away and package the candy into clear plastic bags. She passes them four packs of it before thanking them for the business. As she moves onto the next compartment, both boys silently watch the trolley refill with new sweets.

"Wow, thanks, Harry!" Ron grins at his friend as he walks over to close their compartment's doors. His friend waves of the gratitude as Ron stretches up to reach into the metal bars over their heads. Harry's eyes slightly enlargen as Ron brandishes his pet rat, Scabbers, from the corners of their compartment.

"You brought him along?" he rips into one bag and tosses half of its contents at Ron's side of the compartment. Ron opens the cage and lets Scabbers roam through the length of his seat. The large gray rat was a Christmas present from the twins, and its beady eyes are always finding Harry to fix him a cool black beady stare; currently, it does wonders on Harry's gnawing appetite but Ron is quick to assess the situation and dumps an emptied box of candy over his head.

"Pitiful creature, isn't he?" Ron shoves the colored beans into his mouth. He swallows them, he doesn't chew. Harry figures its due to them being Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and not Betty Booth's Blueberry Beans, and thus, does not comment on the hazards behind the action.

"Just a little bit." He agrees. He has no love for Scabbers, but he knows Ron has festered a misguided kind of love with the rat since its arrival under the tree. "Some chocolate frogs, Ron?" He asks, but still tosses five over to him.

Ron isn't the best catcher, and one lands on Scabbers' head. The rat squeaks, its tiny claws a flurry of movement as it removes the box on its head. It hisses at both of them and latches onto one of the Chocolate Frogs. Ron is beyond himself and scolds Scabber to remove his little claws, but the rat does not listen.

"Um, Ron.." Harry keeps a wary distance from the duo as his friend has succumbed to trying to capture the rat. It darts around his seat, latching onto every box of Chocolate Frog in sight. He loosens the lid a tiny bit with each sink of his claw, and on a returning run around his owner, pushes them off of the red leather.

With a soft _thunk! –_ the lids of the boxes open, and Harry watches in horror as all five frogs come to life on the floor. He drops to his knees, glaring rat forgotten, and attempts to catch them until the compartment door slides open and allows them temporary freedom.

"What in the world - ?" Harry has already looked up from his position on the floor to see the curly mop of brown and dark eyes. Ron, on the other hand, has yet to notice her and only sees the open door. He screeches for it to be closed, and with shock powering through the newcomer, they can only listen and shut it behind them as they enter the compartment. Wrappers are strewn everywhere, and splatters of melted chocolate and scattered jelly beans fill the intruder's eyes.

Eyes which land on the redhead slamming his palms around a large gray rat. "I don't suppose you've seen a toad, have you?" the stranger speaks again. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

Harry rises to his feet, dusting invisible dirt off his jeans. "No, does it look we have?" Ron snaps. He pours Scabbers back into his cage and attempts to latch it close. During the chase, the steel cell had fallen and had been stumbled over. Ron curses.

"Let me," the bushy haired stranger reaches for her wand and points it directly at the broken lock. Ron pushes himself backwards despite fearing for his rat.

"Wait, you might –"

" _Clauditis Reparo."_ Sparks fly out of the tips of her wand and mends the plastic. The intruder smiles, then peers up at her viewers. Her gaze easily slides past the aghast redhead and stutters on the other boy. "Holy cricket," her smile drops. "You're Harry Potter." Both boys cringe, but the intruder pushes on. "I'm Hermione Granger," she introduces, then slowly turns to face the redhead. Manners ingrained in her, she forces herself to acknowledge the messiest one in the room. "And you are?'

"Ron Weasley." Ron supplies.

Hermione gives him a stiff nod as she walks back to the entrance of their compartment. "Pleasure." There is no pleasure in her voice nor expression. "You two better change into your robes. I expect we'll be arriving soon," she opens the door and halts at the other side. She peers back over at Ron. "You've got dirt," she tells him. "On your nose, by the way, did you know? Just there." She points at the spot before turning on her heel and marching away.

"Dirt?" mumbles Ron. He scratches his nose and turns to Harry, his cheeks slightly aflame due to the encounter.

"Right there," Harry corrects his friend and glances at the windows behind them. Indeed, the scenery is different. No longer do the lively fields paint their moving picture; dusk has befallen and the rolling plains have given way to tall, thick trees. "We _are_ close, Ron."

He beams at his friend, who is still troubled over the dirt on his nose. He waits for his eyes to meet his. "Hogwarts is near."

Immediately, and with lightning speed, the boys shove everything aside and Ron makes quick work of charming their compartment door locked. In the midst of dragging the dark robes they were given out from the shelves above them, Harry flashes his companion a surprised glance. "Learnt it from Fred and George," Ron supplies bemusedly. "How'd you suppose they keep mum out of their room?"

Harry grins, and hands his Ron his uniform as he tries his own hand at using his wand. In the few weeks he has had it, he spent his leisure time in the Weasley house filtering back and forth between the cottage, perusing McGonagall's small but intensive collection of books; few contained spells, but he had been smart enough to delve into her abandoned study and pilfer through student mishap reports – some detailing the spells the troublemakers had used. One couple, specifically had a spell for blackening out windows. "To beat the lines," Harry provides Ron as he successfully casts the spell. He had peered in the general direction of the lavatories and indeed, there was already a line of impatient students.

"Well, whatever makes it easier for us," Ron already has his shirt on and is struggling with the tie. Harry strides over to help him, well-versed by McGonagall in the art. When they finish getting dressed they exchange large smiles. Harry is a bit more presentable than his companion, but donned in their uniform, their excitement is impossible to be doused by wrinkles and sloppy tucked-in shirts.

The train makes a lurching stoop and a piercing whistle just as the charms fade off its door and windows; Ron and Harry are one of the first out to spot Hagrid walking along the side aisle, a lantern softly glowing in his hand. Ron follows Harry as he bounds towards the beckoning giant.

"Right then!" He hollers, halting at the beginning of the first car. "First years! This way, please!" He sees their tentative gazes and grins. "Come on, don't be shy!"

Harry and Ron bound up in front of him, leading examples for the hesitating first years standing in the throngs of older students.

"Hello, Hagrid!" they both exclaim. The giant nods at them.

"Hello, Ron," he greets. "Harry." He looks up and counts the tiny heads amassing behind the pair. Once the numbers are to his satisfaction, he turns around and begins stalking towards the looming castle. "This way to the boats!" he bellows, veering left upon reaching the end of the platform. "Come on, now, follow me." He guides them through the beaten path surrounded by a foliage of thin trees. It gives away to a large shimmering lake, almost impenetrably black to the students who dare to tread close to the water and peer into its depth.

"Five in each boat, come on, now," Hagrid nods at the students slowly climbing into the wooden rowboats. "You won't sink."

A few faces grow pale, never having considered the possibility, but nevertheless are cajoled by their new friends to pile into the charmed vessel. Ron and Harry linger by the last rowboat with a missing lantern and watch Hagrid gently push each full one into the dark lake. There are still some unsettled faces, but overall, most eyes have cast themselves onto the castle ahead. Harry and Ron get into the last boat as Hagrid approaches them.

He hangs his lantern on the metal hook and plops himself into the very end of the craft. His weight is enough to put the tiny wooden rowboat on an angle as it begins to move away from the shore. Ron gives a quieter voice of awe as he peers over the edge. Again, the bottom is shrouded by an interminable darkness, but instead of being warded off by the unknown, he is marveled by the collection of stars reflecting on its surface.

Harry is beside himself as he lets his finger trail across the surface, disrupting the starry night. "Hogwarts." He mumbles to himself. The lake is large, and on the surrounding horizons are towering, dense trees, but their presence takes nothing away from the warm excitement pumping through his blood. He rises, shaking the small boat as the receiving shore comes into view.

"Woah, there, Harry!" Ron lurches forward and keeps the boy from completely rising. He pulls him down in an ungainly fashion, and both of them tumble back into the boat making it violently shake. Hagrid's large hands quickly shoot to either side of the boat, attempting to stabilize it and prevent its occupants from spilling over into the lake.

"We're here!" Harry shouts, echoing the sentiments of the other students who have finally reached the shore. His eyes watch as each pair of shoes hits the wet send and gapes at the broad, iron gates swinging open to a cobbled pathway. He has to squint, but a few meters ahead appears a transition the mismatched stone into white limestone steps.

"Let's go, Harry!" Ron jumps out of their boat just as it hits the shore, and Harry wisely snaps out of his thoughts to follow in lieu before Hagrid does and runs past the stragglers waiting for the direction of their guide. Ron is at his heels as their speed encourages the other first years to rush into the castle.

They pour through a narrow hall which gives way to a grand staircase. On the top, stands a waiting McGonagall with an inscrutable expression. Harry refrains from showing any familiarity and remains at the foot of the steps, waiting as the rest of the students lumber into the room.

McGonagall's head makes an ever so slight dip of acknowledgement at him as she halts from rapping her fingers against the stone railing. She clears her voice. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she addresses the accumulated group of first years. "In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But," she makes sure to address each newcomer with an assessing eye. "Before you can take your seats you must be first sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin," she lists and notes the few obvious candidates of each house in the mass of children. "Now while you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumph will earn your house points. Any rule breaking, and you will lose those points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup."  
At her pause, one of the boys makes a tentative step forward. She watches him as his eyes are focused on something by her feet. She looks down just he jumps forward to capture a toad.

He hugs it to his chest as he arises and apologizes in the wake of her verdant stare.

McGonagall's shoulders press back as her posture straightens again. "The sorting ceremony will begin momentarily. Please wait here." She eyes the boy with the toad again before whisking away towards the looming doors ahead. After stepping foot inside and risking a stream of chatter to stream through the crack, a boy with slicked back hair strides to the front of the pack of students and speaks up.

"It's true then," he narrows his attention on Harry. "What they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." His voice is loud enough in the silent chamber-like room, that most students have caught onto the last name and begin echoing it among themselves. Harry carefully remains blank-faced in the midst of the gossiping. The boy with the blond, almost white, hair nods at him. "This is Crabbe, and Goyle," he gestures to the two stout boys leaning on the side. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron snickers from his side and steals Draco's attention. "Think my name's funny, do you?" he sneers. "No need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand me down robe? You must be a Weasley." Draco spits the name off his lips. "You don't want to be with the strong sort, Potter. I can help you there," he extends a hand out at Harry who has remained quiet until now.

The boy pretends to assess Draco and his offer, but ultimately he ignores the outstretched palm and shuffles past him. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

However, before Draco can make a retort, McGonagall reappears and smacks him on the shoulder with a paper. He retreats back into the wave of first years as she nods.

"We're ready for you now."

* * *

She is half asleep when her owner takes her from the owlery. Her wings extend, flapping against the transition of cool night air to a sweltering heated temperature. She pecks her owner's hand twice, giving him a gentle reprimanding before anchoring herself atop his shoulder; she is still young – small enough to find reprieve there. With wide eyes she examines the changing surroundings, secretly amazed at the grandiosity of the new home her owner had moved into. The ceilings were wide, and the walls well decorated; she finds it shameful that they do not allow owls free roam indoors. There are enough things to perch on and to see to keep her kind well-entertained and out-of-sight. Alas, she lets out a small hoot as her owner speaks to a moving portrait.

The room they enter is almost empty save for a few taller humans, but before she could examine them further, her owner had pushed through a short flight of stairs and entered a warm empty, circular room. She took this opportunity to fly off his shoulder and perch on the bedpost she assumes to be her owner's – his trunk emanating his scent is placed against it.

He fixes her with an eye, and she swivels her head to the side. This room is not empty. In the other four beds she counts bodies hidden under a pile of blankets.

"Hedwig," she jumps away from her owner's reach. It is not until he has settled himself against the window does she resume her position by his side. He heaves a sigh but she knows he is not angry with her. He could never be angry with her. She is his, and he is her's.

"Hagrid smelled weird tonight," he confides in her. There is movement in the darkness, and her amber eyes note that it is one of the humans buried alive. She turns her gaze back at her owner to assuage his worries about being overheard. "Like raw meat, or something like it," he pauses and strokes her back. She preens at the touch. "Could you check on him, please? See if anything is wrong?"

She pokes his other hand.

"Oh fine," he submits to stroking her again. "I promise to give you something in return." She does not risk another hoot or any sound at all to show her gratitutde, but she does lean in his to touch. The action translates well and Harry softly smiles at her.

"Thank you," he unlatches the window and pushes it open. "Off you go." He pets her one more, and she almost seems to purr under his touch before taking off into the sky. Far away she goes, taking the splendor of fresh air and the moon caressing her feathers before she takes a sharp turn and finds herself plummeting towards the ground.

Before she becomes a mere memory, she angles her wings up and off the currents take her, back towards the castle grounds and towards the hut with smoke coming out of its chimney.

She knows it is futile to swoop in and steal one of Hagrid's trapped rats, but she risks taking sniff it anyway before perching on the precipice of the slanting roof. She is too bright against the darkening scenery, but Hagrid hardly looks up from his walk towards the dying fire. The smoke from the chimney has gone, and he is dumping more kindling onto the outdoor fireplace.

He returns to his hut afterwards and she is tempted to turn in for the night for a quick hunt until he comes back out again with a bag reeking of meat. It is not raw, however, and she watches her prey whip up the bag of food into the air to avoid a black dog's wide bite.

"Not for you, Fang!" Hagrid says, and she follows again as he makes way towards the castle. The only remnant of her stay at the hut being a missing rat.


	5. Chapter 5

He knows his Aunt expects great things out of him, or at least expects him to uphold his reputation for the sake of her sanity, and so Harry makes record time dressing up and shoving breakfast into his mouth in order to arrive on time for his first Transfiguration class with her, Professor Minerva McGonagall. No longer Aunt McGonagall. Unlike last time, she does not acknowledge him and he is left to fend off the rows of early students chatting among themselves. Most go silent at his presence, turn their heads at his approaching saunter, while a select few only spare him a glance before resuming their conversation with their friend.

Harry only sees one familiar face in the room among the sea of mostly Ravenclaws, and takes a seat next to them.

"Hi." He is a bit breathless, but Hermione only nods and flips the page of her book. He peers over and spots that she is on page two-hundred-thirty-four of their Transfiguration textbook.

"You're early," she muses, eyes still ravishing the page for its information. Harry quirks an eyebrow, but does not question her progress as he whips out his own supplies onto his desk. The clock shows five minutes until nine o'clock. "I thought you would be late."

Harry chokes on a laugh. Dare he would ever be late for any of Professor McGonagall's classes. He flips to chapter one and leans back into his chair. "I woke up a few minutes late," he admits quietly. "But I made sure to make it on time."

Three minutes left and the pouring of students finally begins. The desks can only house two students, so Harry and Hermione are left alone as a pair and can only watch as a few small quarrels break out over seating arrangements. However, before a fight could quickly escalate, a scratch on the green board diffuses it. Students finally quiet down as the clock strikes nine, and everyone but Harry begins to wonder silently about the location of their professor.

Harry stares at the green-eyed cat primly sitting on the hardwood desk. "Where is she?" the bushy-haired girl next to him asks. Her book has returned to chapter one, and she is tapping her foot against the floor. It is quiet agitation, but Harry can feel the movement due to his proximity.

Although, before he can reply, the doors burst open one last time and in an explosion of sound, he spots Ron and their roommate Seamus Finnigan hunched over their waist, hacking for a breath of air. Ron is the first to arise and find Harry's mirthful gaze, at which he applauds at with the longest finger of his hand.

The black cat from earlier is forgotten by almost everyone, but Hermione and Harry are quick to spot it canter past the doors, closing it with some kind of magic, before it makes a beeline at Seamus and Ron. Both turn around just in time to see it morph into Professor McGonagall, who takes no mercy and smacks them both on the head with a scroll pilfered from her pocket.

"Whoa," Ron is more amazed than frightened.

"That was bloody brilliant!" Seamus marveled.

The class wholeheartedly stifles their laughter as their professor fixes both late students with a feline glare.

"Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Finnigan," Professor McGonagall stares at the buffering boy. "Maybe if I were to transfigure either Mr. Weasley and yourself into a pocketwatch, maybe you would be on time." She strides towards the front of the room.

"We got lost?" Seamus blunders.

McGonagall is sharp. She turns on and focuses on them on more time. "Then perhaps a map?" she quips. "I trust you don't need one to find your seats." Both boys scramble to the vacant desk behind Harry and Hermione. They do not have the safety of a corner or the back desks, but are fortunate enough that the early Ravenclaws and their fellow Gryffindor buddies have already assumed the prime seats upfront.

"Why didn't you wake me, Harry?" Ron hisses as McGonagall turns to gather her wand from her desk. They watch as she bewitches a piece of chalk to do her writing.

"I tried," Harry tilts his head towards his friend. "But you sleep like the dead."

"Ha ha," Ron shakes his head just as McGonagall shuts her book close.

"Are we done talking? Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley?" she shows the child under her care no preferential treatment.

"Yes," they both mumble and keep their heads down for the duration of the class.

When it concludes, they have no assignments, but the green eyes following their retreat from the classroom is enough to haunt them for the night. Harry bids Hermione farewell as she rushes past them towards the next class. They have enough of a gap between their classes to enjoy a short reprieve, but he doubts the brown-haired girl would even consider doing such a thing.

"So what's next for us?" Ron has put all previous animosity aside as he and Seamus flank him. The hallways are full of other first years straying in different directions, making following the general wave of them hard.

Harry does not have to whip out his schedule to answer and nods them over to the side hallway. Decorated with small high windows, the light there is dimmer, and at the end is an old wooden door. "Reckon anyone ever got lost for more than a day here?" Seamus wonders aloud as he pushes it open for them. With a creak, it budges wide enough for them to slide through.

"Whoa!" Ron and Harry quickly latch onto Seamus' failing arms before he can plummet past the two dozen steps leading downward. They steady him on his feet as he casts a wide-eyed scan at the cold stone walls and faint torchlights. "Sure this is the way to class, Harry?"

He points at the staircase. "It's going down," he states. "Dungeons are below the first level."

Seamus frowns at him as he takes a few tentative steps towards the bottom. "You could be less obvious, y'know?" He continues the descent as Ron and Harry gradually follow him. "What class is it anyway?"

"Potions." Harry supplies, and at this, all three of them grimace.

"Blimey," Ron mumbles. "Maybe next time I will be late to McGonagall's class. Then maybe she can give me detention and I can skip Snape's class."

"You know she wouldn't do that," Seamus reasons out. "Old cat's too strict."

"And Snape's not?" retorts Ron as they enter an ominous hallway. There are a handful of doors lined up on one side leaving one on the opposite end of them completely isolated. Some were bolted shut from the outside and Ron does not bother to hide a shudder. "Place is as creepy as the professor. Sure this is the room, Harry?"

The boy nods his head, spotting the worn-out placard by the secluded door. "Unfortunately." The boys share a sigh and muster enough will and bravery to enter the classroom; it is vacant save for Hermione studying at the end of the second row. Seamus huffs and settles himself into the nearest seat by the door. "Last time I sit anywhere near the front," he nods to the other two as they move onto the same row as Hermione. However, rather than sit next to her, they place themselves on the other end.

Ron eyes the cobwebs and the shelves lined with questionable bottles with unknown contents. In the front, there is the typical desk, clean of anything and flanked by a green board and an empty cauldron. There are high windows covered with the thin veneer of dark cloth, and both boys are reminded all too quickly who taught the class. Harry chances one more look over at Hermione to find her immersed in her book; his Aunt would love her sooner than later. He averts his attention back to his friend who has risen to inspect the shelves lined with creatures and anonymous ingredients. He pauses mid hiss to consider Hermione's predicament again. He figures it would best suit both their interests if he could steer Ron far away from her while they both peruse their interests to their hearts' content.

"Move over," he whispers to the redhead as he meanders towards a corner. There is slant in the ceiling and past the iron-cast shelves is a small alcove full of dark books. He grabs one, flips open to a page full of scribbles and notes, before Ron takes it out of his hands.

"Funny cookbook, don't you think?" Ron hands it over after his brief inspection and grabs a jar full of eyeballs. "Human?" he muses to himself as Harry resumes scanning through the book. He flips over to the front page and finds it signed by someone who prided themselves as a prince. He snaps it close and returns the strange book.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was." Harry nods at the jar Ron is returning. His Aunt scarcely spoke about work, only mentioning her students at most, but once in a while he had been graced to hear her remarks on her fellow professors; Professor Snape was hardly someone she talked about among the others, but whenever she did, he always noted there was a crinkle at the corner of her lips. He and Ron continue to explore the shelves that were the farthest away from Hermione for a bit until he picks up the sound of muffled banter. He pushes Ron away from the pile of cauldrons and guides him back over to their seats.

They only have a minute of respite from their inspection before the crowd of first years barge in. With them, they bring light and noise which both Ron and Harry momentarily revel in, exchanging a few words with fellow Gryffindor and two or three others first years not in their house before a warm gust of wind shuts their mouths up and forces their attention to waver onto the dark capes of their professor.

Professor Snape. Harry keeps his eyes low, safe from meeting his teacher's leering gaze as a silence befalls upon them. His instincts tell him to keep quiet as Snape sneers out the roster, only raising his hand when his name is called, and he can only hope that Ron can do the same.

The redhead does and he lets out a sigh of relief which Snape seems to pick up. His bright green eyes dart up as the professor begins his preamble. "There will be no foolish wand waving," he targets Seamus. "Or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to enjoy the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However," Snape passes Hermione's attentive face. For those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." Snape lifts his gaze off of one of the few aptly observant students, Draco. Snape stops from his pacing and turns his body so that it completely faces Harry's bent head.

The boy doesn't notice the pause and is relentless on his notebook, scribing every single word that had poured out of Snape's mouth. It is only until Ron shoves his arm off the table that his focus snaps. He is about to turn and snap at his friend, but is halted by the quick realization that silence had permeated throughout the room. He looks up, catches Snape's beady black eyes, and blanches.

"Then again," the professor does not blink. "Maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of theses said abilities and more that you feel confident enough to not. Pay. Attention." He swivels on his heel and turns to the board, refusing the doubtlessly enchanted chalk lying on his desk.

"Mr. Potter," he speaks, writing down his name and the title of the chapter they would begin with. "Our new celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" He finishes writing down the page numbers correlating to the various editions he had spotted each student coming in with and looks at the scarred boy again.

And again, he bypasses Hermione's waving hand. Harry does not flinch under his stare. "A sleeping potion, Professor," he answers, and continues despite Snape's parting lips. "So potent that it mimics death and is famously known as the Draught of the Living Death."

"And where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" There is silence assuming his pause again, but this time, everyone is looking at Harry with expectant breathes – even Hermione's hand has a lapse before shooting up into the air.

"From the stomach of a goat," Harry nods. "Professor."

"And what do six caterpillars, two Shrivelfig, four rat spleens, minced daisy roots, and leech juice make?" Snape is at the end of Harry's row, looking over his scrawny notes. Harry does not have an answer, and Hermione's hand does not rise.

"Thought so, pity. Clearly fame isn't everything, is it, Potter?" Snape resumes his position at the front of the classroom and announces the page number. Students are still at awe at Harry's ability to answer his questions, despite hum being unable to find the solution to the last one, and Snape has to shout it one more time in order for them to return to their books.

Even then, however, some are still shooting Harry wide eyes. Ron nudges him. "How'd you know all that, Harry?" he whispers under the hush of books and pages being flipped open.

Harry doesn't turn, merely shrugs. "Aunt – _Professor,"_ he corrects himself, wary of other ears. "McGonagall's always having me read those books remember?" He nods to Snape's turned back. "Besides, I know the answer to his last question."

"Then why didn't you say it?" Ron's quill hovers over his blank notebook in an attempt to appear focused on the lecture at hand.

"Because I only saw those ingredients in the notebook we found ear –"

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, do tell us what you two are mumbling about. I'm sure everyone would like to know what the famous Mr. Potter has to say at the most." Snape slams his book down and waits for one of them to answer.

"No, Professor, it was nothing." Harry speaks for both of them.

"Nothing, Mr. Potter? Then listen and maybe you will learn something, and then next time I ask you a question you may be able to answer it," he beckons over to the books again. "Ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting the class."

A few groans resonate throughout the room, but no one protests against the punishment. Harry and Ron attempt a few more times at finishing their conversation, but give up once it becomes clear that their fellow housemates can only tolerate so much of them losing points.

* * *

A/N: Next update might be a _little_ delayed. I'm still not okay with present as well, feeling a bit limited in what I can write - but hopefully this was fine with you guys!


	6. Chapter 6

Harry squints his eyes at the sun's blaring reflection off of Malfoy's slicked back hair. He had spotted the very same colored mane on a taller man often in the back alleys and main streets of Hogsmeade, but aside from one brief encounter with the elder Malfoy, had yet to actually meet one on more pleasant terms. However, he frowns as Draco calls out loud sneering remarks against the other students in their ranks, Harry notes that where Lucious Malfoy is all cold condescension and sharp edges, his son is more of boisterous arrogance and rounder features; a bird mimicking a snake. He turns away from Draco before he notices his attention and walks back over to the smart group of students standing some feet away from Draco and his cronies.

"Just look at him blabber on," Ron has no love for the Malfoys. Never had never will, and Harry just nods his head in agreement. Neville, the boy who had lost his toad on the train, is with them. His shoulders are hunched, curved against the cluster of Slytherins as he palms the Remembrall he had been gifted earlier on.

"It's red again, Neville." Hermione has also chosen to ignore the gang of green and silver. "Do you remember anything you might have forgotten?" She looks strange without a book in her hands or by her side, but Harry supposes it would be even more peculiar if she had brought one with her to their flying class.

Neville shakes his head and returns the red orb into his pocket. "No." His answer is terse, deflated. Their flight instructor briskly walks onto the terrain of green students. Madam Hooch's attention is precise yet everywhere, her yellow eyes encompassing everyone and everything.

"Gather around, everyone!" She ignores the careful placement of students. Ravenclaws and Slytherin mostly on one side, while the Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and some Ravenclaws lay scattered in a line on the other. "Welcome to your first flying lesson!" Her yellow hawk-like eyes remain inscrutable but attentive. "Everyone drop your brooms and step up to the left side of it. _Hurry,"_ she marches through the makeshift pathway between the students. She nods at a few hustling pupils. "Come on, now, hurry up," she doesn't single out Neville. "Good!"

Harry watches as Madam Hooch drops her own broomstick and follows her previous command. "Now put your right hand over the broom and say, Up!" Almost instantaneously, the broomstick flies into her hand.

Harry and a few others are quick to echo her command, and he marvels at the quick reaction. He holds the broomstick soundly while he waits for others to get the same response; only Draco has managed to successfully command his broomstick aside from himself. He refrains from scoffing at the smug smile on his face.

"With feeling, everyone!" Madam Hooch is now attending to each student, aiding them in commanding their brooms. Beside him, Ron is shouting exasperatedly at his broomstick, and before Harry can warn him, it flies up and conks him on the nose.

"Shut up, Harry!" Ron grimaces, rubbing his new injury. Harry bites his bottom lip in order to refrain from laughing any more than necessary. Rather, he changes his focus onto Hermione who is separated from him by Neville's flustered figure. He takes pity on the boy, and signals for him to stop.

He raises his own hand over Neville's broom. "Just talk to it, Neville," he drops his own broom, sweeps his hand over it, and repeats the command. Adhering to his word, the stick faithfully flies up into his palm again. "You try now," Harry steps back, half attentive to Neville and half focusing on Hermione's progress. They both enunciate the word clearly in unison, but only one of them is met with a savory response.

Half the class groans and chortles at Neville's bloody nose. Madam Hooch is instantly by his side, but is otherwise not as too bothered over the Gryffindor's predicament. She spares Harry a glance as he offers Neville a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding.

"Good, good," she takes the overall progress in stride. "Now swing your leg over the other side of the broom. Mount it, hold on tight," Hooch positions herself behind Harry and Neville as if she is already anticipating an unfortunate outcome. "When I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep the broom steady, hover, lean slightly forward, and touch back down." She frowns at the nervous air around some of the Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"Remember, stay in place – _do not_ fly anywhere else or I will personally facilitate your departure from this school," Hooch grabs her silver instrument. "On my whistle, three, two –" She does not reach one before she blows through the hole, sending a shrill note to pervade the air. Almost immediately, Neville is off the ground before Harry or any of the others could even kick off from the ground.

"Oh," Hermione echoes Harry's sudden anxiousness over Neville as the said boy's face pales in his plight. He swings precariously with the broom: left, down, right, up.

"Neville, what are you doing?" He is slowly rising higher and higher, and Harry has a nagging feeling that all will not end well. He grips his broom tighter, wondering if he would be able to keep his fellow classmate from facing any further harm or trouble, but knows that he is neither experienced or strong enough to do such a thing. Instead, he is reduced to staring at the boy's ascending outline and pray Hooch has an incantation or two to prevent any possible injury.

"We're not supposed to take off yet," he vaguely hears a student call out to Neville amidst Hooch's shouts for him to come back down. Harry's sure that it is Seamus making the commentary, but lacks the time to confirm it as with a sudden movement, Neville is off, soaring away. Into a wall.

"Neville!"

"Mr. Longbottom!" Many gasp, most of them rush to cluster around the boy. His broom his sound, but he is clutching his wrist. Madam Hooch is quick to part through their ranks and descend upon the injured boy.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh _dear,"_ she sweeps his arm towards her and examines his wrist. "It's broken," her voice is hollow, calloused to this sort of wound, but still, she makes sure to handle Neville with a tender facade. "Good boy, up you get." She cajoles Neville to stand with her. "Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, understand?" She presses her students for a delayed nod and an affirmative reply. "If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say Quidditch." And with that, she makes her exist from the field.

"Poor bloke," Ron mumbles from beside him. Draco, an outstanding classmate with his strange white-blond hair, scoffs and bends to pick up the forgotten Remembrall.

"Deserved it, the fool," he snickers. "Did you see his face?" He turns to his group of friends. "Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat ass." He laughs with the others.

"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry steps forward, palm extended.

Draco fixes him an assessing glare. "Looks like your lesson didn't help him at all, Potter," he jumps on his broom and circles around the group. "No, Potter," Draco says. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to the find." He hovers higher, "how 'bout the roof? Bit beyond his reach, you think Potter?" He soars up higher. "Bit beyond yours?"

Hermione quickly reaches out to hold the top of Harry's broom. "Think about this again, Harry – you heard what Madam Hooch said."

Harry pushes Hermione's hand from the hilt of his broom and kicks off the ground. "Do you even know how to fly?" he hears her shout as he leans towards the direction of Malfoy's retreating figure.

Draco is fast, he gives the Slytherin that, but he is faster. Unbeknownst to his classmates, McGonagall has allowed Harry to follow in her stead in regard to loving the sport, Quidditch. She had taken him to countless games when her schedule permitted, and had even given him a broom fit for younger children. He had since outgrown the play-broom, and McGonagall had gotten too busy, but she had still let his passion for the sport fester. It did not help that their neighbor, Evangeline Brussels, also sometimes allowed him to ride with her on her broom, and use her older one when her father had bought her a newer one to use for the Hogwarts' competitions.

He leans forward, body almost parallel to the broom as he beseeches Malfoy to give back the stolen present.

"Fine, Potter," Draco abruptly halts in his flight by pulling his broom up to a screeching stop. "Have at it then!" He throws the Remembrall at a window, and Harry speeds past him in a blur of determination and foolhardiness. There is no possible good outcome from this scenario, but he pursues the Remembrall flying towards the glass. It is only when he is a breath away from colliding with it does he pull off to angle his body and the broom parallel to the wall, and stretch out his hand to snatch the ball from crashing through the window.

As soon as his fingers enclose around the orb, he quickly pulls his arm back from hitting the glass. He swings his broom around and remains stagnant in the air to the disbelief of Malfoy and the others.

"Good job, Harry!"

"Wicked!"

He flies his broom back down and enters the foray of cheers and congratulations.

"Going to give that back to your love now, Potter?" Malfoy scowls from the back of the crowd. Harry is not deaf to his jab, and turns just in time to spot McGonagall marching through the field, towards them.

Many follow his gaze and fall silent at her arrival; Ron and Seamus are the only to step more than a few paces back at the recollection of her stern lecture. "Potter," she eyes him with a feline inscrutability. "Follow me, please."

Harry hands off his broom to Hermione's empty hand and follows quickly and quietly. He tunes out Draco's and the other Slyntherin's laughter as he quickens his pace to match his Aunt's long strides.

"I'm sor –"

"I was a fool to think you would not harken to your father's legacy," McGonagall cuts him off. They walk past beams of light and shadow as they venture through an exposed hallway.

"Professor?" Harry repeats for clarification. McGonagall does not stop in her quick walk, but manages to throw him a bemused smile. "Your father, Harry, what do you think he did when he was at Hogwarts?" She makes a sharp turn.

"Get in trouble a lot?" Harry offers. He has seen pictures of his parents, has heard stories about them, but none about their younger days spent in school. Other than McGonagall likening Harry's intelligence to his mother's, and his impatience to that of his father's, he has yet to hear much about how they shouldered through their academic years at Hogwarts.

McGonagall lets out an almost derisive chuckle. "Aside from that, well," she pauses in her gait and turns to face the boy. "You will see the trophies later, but he was also a great Quidditch player, Harry." She taps the wooden door that they have stopped in front of before pushing it open.

Harry has little time to delve into the news before McGonagall's piercing words add a new set of information into his stuttering brain: "Excuse me, Professor Quirrell, but could I borrow Wood for a moment? I believe I have found him a new seeker."

* * *

" _Seeker?!"_ Evangeline bounds the steps separating her from Harry and his friends. Ron jumps, holds onto the railing, and stares at the incoming Ravenclaw.

"Yeah, Au – _Professor_ McGonagall recruited me," Harry informs his childhood neighbor. He is still wary of Hermione and others knowing about his relationship with one of their professors. He would hate for any gossip about potential biasing running amok and ruining his chances at friendships; he already has his childhood horror story and scar driving others away.

"Well congrats, Harry! I knew you'd make it!" Evangeline ruffles his hair. "It's a wonder why McGonagall didn't even recruit you from the very beginning with your enthusiasm and performance during our summer scrimmages." She muses, and then turns Harry to force him against the granite railing.

"Wh – what?" He fumbles for a hold, just as the staircase they are upon starts to tremble.

"What's happening?" Ron's eyes grow big as they take in the gap between the head of the stairs and the corresponding platform.

"They change, remember?" Hermione assuages him, just as the staircase stops and links with a new landing.

"Right on, girl," Evangeline nods as Harry cajoles Ron to move onto the new landing.

"Do you really want to go there, though?" Evangeline calls out to them. Hermione is the first to step off the staircase, and levels the Ravenclaw with an inquisitive tilt of her head. "That's the third floor corridor, and last time I checked, it's forbidden."

"What do you mean?" Ron and Harry ask. Hermione, however, is quick to think for them and ushers then back onto the stairs.

"Don't you two ever listen?" she is mainly accusing Ron, but is unrelenting and fixes Harry with a look of disappointment too. "During the welcoming feast, we were told of a few rules, and one of them declared the third floor corridor forbidden to students. You can enter the third floor's left wing seeing as that is where the library and charms classrooms are, but not the right wing's corridor"

"She's right, but don't get your panties in a twist," Evangeline smiles at Ron's reddening ears. "No one really listens after year one, as it usually turns into a learning exercise after that."

Hermione blanches. "What do you mean by that?"

Evangeline shrugs and leans against the railing, waiting for the staircase to change its route again. "Well, you just learn either from the gossip or your own mistakes about what not to do or where not to go and remember not to repeat or get caught doing those things."

"That sounds dangerous, what if there was a troll infestation in the basement or something?" Hermione throws.

"That does sound dangerous," Evangeline relinquishes. "But also, unlikely. Hogwarts is a safe institution, and something like that would never be allowed to grow to that severity. However, the third floor has been off limits since last year too, and since it still is now, I reckon wandering first years or even fifth years like myself have no business going there."

"Aren't you curious though?" Harry asks just as the staircase dislodges from the third floor's landing.

Evangeline's shoulders rise, only to fall. "Some things are better left in the dark, Harry. Especially when magic is in question," she reaches out and ruffles his hair again. "Well, this is my stop – stay out of trouble now, goodnight!" Evangeline hops the steps and lands on the platform connecting their staircase with one more linked to the fourth floor.

Harry keeps a leveled stare at her before facing his friends. "Aren't you curious?" he opens up to them. The staircase moves again and locks onto the fifth floor's landing. Ron is the first to step off.

"Did you not hear her? Because I did. Did you, Hermione?' the redhead glances at their curly-haired friend to see her stuck in her thoughts as well. He groans at the contemplative silence and shakes his head. "No, Harry. It's forbidden for a reason."

"And here I thought you would be all for it, Ron?" Hermione replies instead. Her right hand drops into her cloak's pocket to palm her wand. "I am curious, Harry," she sighs at Ron's baffled expression. "But not enough to go there, I agree with Ron," she shakes her head. "It sounds almost dangerous."

"But Evangeline said Hogwarts is a safe institution," Harry's words die on his lips. He lets out a breath and follows his two friends up the adjacent staircase. "But you're right." He drops the subject. He knows a dead end, and decides to let his friends run the conversation towards other topics like their growing pile of assignments.

Yet, as he waits for Ron's telltale sign of slumber that night, he knows his curiosity is insatiable. He listens for the first hint of heavy snoring before rising from his bed and shoving his feet into some worn slippers. He blindly grabs for a jacket or a cloak in his trunk before leaving his room.

He enters the owlery with nothing more but a fire to learn more and food for his bird. "Hedwig," he greets, spotting the white owl on a perch. He offers his peacekeeping treat to her. "Did you find anything more on Hagrid, Hedwig?" he starts.

The white owl nuzzles his hand for a brief second before making a short flight towards an adjacent precipice. She seems to grab something from the dark before returning to Harry with a fetid strip of some sort.

Harry brings it up closer for inspection and almost throws the spoiled raw meat away. "It's a wonder you haven't eaten it earlier," he comments. "You found this with Hagrid?" He watches Hedwig tilt her head, and has enough faith in her to interpret that action as a 'yes.' He thanks her with another treat which she greedily takes in.

However, the longer he watches Hedwig, the more apprehensive he grows about his next task for her. He recalls Evangeline's words again, and begins to doubt the assurance in them. Hedwig lets out a low bark, shaking Harry from his stupor.

He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his cloak tighter to his body. The evening chill of the owlrey becoming more unfriendly with each passing minute. "Never mind, Hedwig – you did good girl." He steps away from her.

"It's my turn now."

* * *

A/N: First, the site wouldn't let me upload a new document for a while, and then afterwards, exams kept piling. As I said, updates will be sparse for a bit while the semester is still going. Anyway, I thank you all for the attention so far and those who have reviewed get an extra thanks! I will take them into consideration and hope to improve.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning air is brisk, its breeze clipping against Harry's bare cheeks as he tries to further hide his face into his blue knit pullover. He doesn't understand the concept about morning practice or meetings, but is glad that today is the latter and not the former. He could only imagine flying around in the frigid air for some exercises and what that would do to his mentality and passion for the game. He stands under the awning of the courtyard entrance, willing for the tendrils of sleep to just linger with him for just a few more minutes – enough to endure this morning meeting. He would reward it by burrowing back into his bed.

"Hello Harry." His eyes rise from their hooded gazing to meet Oliver's approaching figure. Oliver Wood, fifth year Gryffindor student, Captain of the house's Quidditch team, and Keeper. Harry offers him a bleary nod as he spots the leather-bound trunk in the Captain's arms. "Classes 've been treating you well, I hope?" He forces his shorter lags to match Oliver's robust gait. "McGonagall's told me you already have a handle on Quidditch, is that right?"

Harry nods again. "I've been keeping up with the _Chudley Cannons_ recently."

"I've been taken with Puddlemere United myself," he stops at the center of the field and unceremoniously drops the trunk. "So you know the game, but have you played?" He sits on top case after it gives an unsuspecting lurch. The sleep from Harry's eyes slowly begin to disperse.

"A friend of mine has shown me a few things, and we've played a few scrimmages together," Harry watches the trunk give another tremble against Wood's leaner frame.

"It's just the Bludgers," he shakes off Harry's rising apprehension. "What kind of scrimmages?"

"I mostly just played around with the Quaffle – nothing really to do with keeping either," he admits. Evangeline had an arm, and she was kind enough to spare him from it; the friends she invited over were not fortunate enough to receive the same benevolence. "I've also helped my friend out with her evasion, but –"

"Nothing really solid then," Oliver concludes. He slips off the trunk and gives it an almost tender pat. "We can't do a live action run to see how you really fare under normal game circumstance, but I can test you on your time."

"Pardon?" Harry steps back as Oliver unlatches the straps of the trunk. It groans open and he deftly ignores the twitching Bludgers and stagnant Quaffles. Rather, he pops open a smaller compartment and frees the golden Snitch from its ties. He makes sure to keep it trapped in his palm as he reaches out for the wand strapped to his forearm. With a wordless incantation, he has a broom approaching them.

"You," he levels the boy with an assessing stare. "Are the Seeker," he hands the broom to Harry. "And as the seeker, it is your primary job to catch this wicked fella." He beckons Harry to mount the broom, and the boy wordlessly adheres to his instruction.

"I'm going to let go of this, and I am going to time you, Harry," he cajoles another broom to join them and gets on it. "It's wicked fast and damn near impossible to see," he opens his palm. "You ready?"

Harry watches as the Golden Snitch's translucent wings unfurl and begin to flutter. He nods his head. "Ready."

Wood whips out a stopwatch from his pocket and shouts at Harry to go just as the Snitch darts through the air and out of their sight. Harry is beside himself and gives chase – a reckless smile threatening to split his face apart as he pursues the elusive prey.

The chase leads him through some spirals and past what he assumes to be Ravenclaw tower before it introduces him to newer grounds – the school's Quidditch field.

"Your being timed, Harry!" Said boy does not turn to give Oliver his attention as he spots the bloody golden orb darting around the center field. He turns his broom to make a nose dive for it and finds himself almost squashed against the green terrain as it flitters just out of his reach and back into the sky. Harry's toes skid against the grass as he steers his broom up and around one empty stand.

The Golden Snitch glimmers as it catches the sun's light, but as he flies back towards the field in his pursuit, he finds it gone – out of sight. He frowns and tries to shake off Wood's hovering presence. He does not know how much time has passed, but just as he is about to give into asking Wood, he catches sight of the Golden Snitch once more and is off to give chase. This time, he does not make the mistake to keep close to its tail and flies around the next spiral – right in the direction of the Snitch. It rams into his chest and makes a frenzied move to fly off, but Harry is quicker and scrunches his body around it while slamming a hand over the twitching ball.

"Time!" Harry's heart is pounding in his chest, and he has to take a few breaths for himself before he flies back over to meet Oliver's waiting figure at the center of the field. The taller boy grins at him and slaps Harry on the back.

"Risky flying there, Harry," he laughs and takes the Golden Snitch from the boy's tight grasp. "It's over now, you did good." He beckons for him to go back onto his borrowed broom. "Let's head back."

"How was I?" he is still panting, but Harry can't deny the lightness in his chest and the smile on his face.

"Good," he watches Wood nod. "We'll introduce you to the other players when practice season starts in two weeks, but otherwise – " he grins at the boy. "Glad to have you on the team, Harry."

The boy meets Wood's congratulations with a shaky laugh. "Glad to be on it too."

They make quick work of the remaining meters distancing them from their destination, and Harry takes the silence that has befallen on them to recompose himself. He watches Wood store the Golden Snitch away and lock the trunk again. He readies himself to offer some help in storing the items away, Wood is a big guy but he is human and still only has two hands and arms.

"Believe breakfast should have started by now," Oliver turns to Harry. He waves his wand over the three items and Harry watches in awe as the few sparks that fly from its tip enchant them to hover on their own. "You can go ahead, I can handle these. I have to talk to McGonagall anyway and report to her about our meeting."

Harry nods, but before he can make a move towards the direction of the Great Hall, Oliver calls out his name one more time.

"The person who you played scrimmages with," he starts, jogging up to Harry, brooms and trunk in tow. "Do they go to school here?" The mirthful sparkle in Wood's eyes are shadowed now, and Harry's immediate answer dies on his lips.

Instead, he settles for a 'yes' and watches Wood take on a contemplative air. "What's their name?"

"Her na –"

"Harry!" the two break off to allow the newcomer into their space. Harry has never felt more relieved to see someone interrupting his conversation about Quidditch. "Harry!" His lips pull into a tight smile as he acknowledges Hermione.

"Oh!" The girl comes to a stop beside him as she catches sight of Oliver. "Am I interrupting?"

Oliver answers before Harry does. "No, not at all – we were just finishing up." He nods again at Harry. "I'll see you in practice two weeks from now, Harry," he says before sauntering off in the opposite direction.

Harry can only let his shoulders sag before Hermione seizes them. "Listen, I –" she stops herself as she looks back again at Wood's retreating back. "You got on the team?" She doesn't let him reply. "Oh, what am I asking, of course you did. Anyway –"

"Hermione, good morning," Harry pauses as he feels his stomach lurch from the lack of nourishment. "Mind if we talk while we head to breakfast?" He doesn't wait for her to agree with him as he begins sauntering towards the feast hall. "What were you saying?"

Hermione tilts her chin ever so slightly upwards as she matches his gait. "I looked into the third floor corridor, and _no,"_ she silences his gaping mouth. "I did not go there. I read about in the library, and from what I can tell, it's just storage."

"Then why are students forbidden from entering it?" Harry's nose perks as it begins to pick up the sweet aroma of syrup and scorned bacon and ham. Again, he wonders if Quidditch season would mean later breakfasts and shorter hours of sleep. Oliver Wood did not seem the type to deprive his team members from these little luxuries, but Oliver Wood also appeared like the model, closet Quidditch fanatic with his looming disposition.

"Probably because of the things stored in there," Hermione guesses. "Like things accidentally enchanted by students."

Harry pushes the towering door open and breathes in the diverse sounds and scents of groggy students and freshly-cooked dishes. He makes a beeline towards the obscenely conspicuous group of redhead. "It makes sense," he acquiesces. However, he still unassuaged by Hermione's research. He slides into the seat across form Ron and his twin brothers. "I guess Evangeline was right to keep us away from there – who knows what kind of mistakes are in there."

Hermione's brows knit together, but the sound of the Weasley family's bickering deters her from pursuing the topic any further. She leans over and grabs a muffin from a basket and murmurs to Harry a farewell.

"What was that about?" Ron shoots as he frees himself from the tangle of arms swiping at each other. Harry shoves about a handful of pieces of bacon onto his plate before claiming two pieces of pancake for himself.

"She was curious about the third floor and looked into it," Harry shrugs, pouring syrup over his meal.

Ron fixes him a leveled stare. " _She?_ You were curious too, mate." He shoves an elbow into Fred's abdomen, peeved at the mess they made with his hair from their earlier entanglement. "I know you, Harry," he starts. "I know what you're thinking."

"Which is nothing," Harry declares with an air of finality. "Nothing at all." He is immune to Ron's cynical gaze and turns to the twins who have settled on a seemingly temporary truce. "So you two are still on the Quidditch team, right?"

"Dunno," Fred shoots him a grin.

"It all depends if little Ollie still has patience for us from last season." George adds.

"Gryffindor's not won the House Cup in a while, mate," Fred continues. "And Wood's closer to hexing someone dead with every empty year that goes by."

"Sounds extreme," Harry comments. Yes, Oliver Wood is decidedly a Quidditch fanatic. He hopes concealing Evangeline's identity would protect her from any strange suspicions he may have been developing towards the end of their meeting.

Both twins chortle and George slams down his fork. " _Extreme?"_ he echoes. "Mate, you haven't seen extreme until you've been to one of the practices."

Harry stops chewing.

"Enjoy life while you still have it, mate."

_.

The sound of parchment paper being rolled up jostles Harry back into the plane of existence. He blinks, takes in the emptying room, and looks for any sign of tight curls and large textbooks. He does not spot it in the throng of evacuating students, but he does not react to that merit and remains in his seat. Slow in his movement, he waits for Ron to finally address his pace before crafting his friend a lie to further drive his patience to its last tendrils.

The redhead sighs, but classes have been strenuous and he finds no distinctive interest in this field of history, and so he leaves Harry to his own devices. He reminds him about their first-year curfew and the dinner times before leaving the room. Harry stands up only when the last student leaves the room. Their apparition of a professor makes no inclination to comment on his sluggish movements and simply passes through the wall behind his desk. He is alone, and Harry shoves the rest of his notes and inkwell into his canvas bag before departing from the classroom.

He makes wary strides towards an obscured hallway before launching up the isolated stairwell and running into the main staircase. Most students are brushing past him, and pay little mind to the boy with the scar on his forehead as he trapezes towards the third floor. He acknowledges a few of the passersby with their characteristic red and gold ties before jumping onto the landing of the third-floor corridor in quick succession. He doesn't linger on the platform for inquisitive eyes and darts straight into the adjunct hallway. With the light straying in from behind him, he can make out solid forms and thick cobwebs decorating the abandoned corridor. He whips out his wand and whispers for his own orb of light to bring more detail into the room.

"There you are, Harry!"

Said boy jumps, almost drops his wand, as he turns around to find Hermione's accusing eyes. Her own wand lies in her hand, replacing his distinguished light with her one of her very own. "Why are you here, Harry?" she asks just as he bends down to pick up his wand.

However, before he can reply, a loud screech penetrates the dust-clouded air and brings attention to Mrs. Norris' incriminating presence. Harry freezes, if only temporarily, as Hermione runs past him and catches his sleeve in her other hand. " _Hurry!"_ she hisses, as she pushes him towards the wooden door at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Norris continues to squall at their general direction, beseeching for her owner to come find them. As they venture deeper into the forbidden floor, flames begin to light up from their ashen hearths. Harry swears as he slams into the door and fumbles with the knob.

"It's locked!" his eyes dart back once more at the screeching cat. Hermione stares at him blankly for a few seconds until the idea hits them both.

Harry is faster than her and already has his wand out – he chants, " _Alohomora,"_ to unlock the door. Hermione pushes him inside the unknown as she simultaneously throws her back against the door. It sweeps close with a small whisper of a wind, but otherwise, as they wait for any signs of Filch, do not hear danger and suspension approaching their location. Hermione visibly deflates as she produces a new orb of light to thrust into Harry's face.

"How could you?!" she frowns, tempering her voice to a low decibel.

Harry waves Hermione's wand away from his face. "I just had to see for myself, okay?" Harry knows the repercussions that could follow both of them, but the feeling in his gut nagged many hours of his sleep away, and Hagrid had yet to come clean to him with anything but sweatier palms. He sighs and turns his back to the door again as he takes in what little details he can make out in the new room. It is oddly damp, musky, and he likens to the scent of a dozen Fangs.

He grabs Hermione's wrist and lifts it up to point towards the prevailing darkness. "Wha –" All pretenses of irritation disappear as both their eyes settle on the massive animal in front of them. All of its three heads remain asleep in their intruding presence. "Wha – what?" Hermione is finally able to articulate her disbelief. She steps back, finds herself cornered against the door, and freezes.

"Student mistakes, right?" Harry mumbles as he fumbles for the door's copper knob. It turns with a creak, and forces the eyelids of the beast to flutter against the sound. Harry wastes no time and pushes it open for Hermione to tumble past him before slamming it close.

Hermione looks as if she is on the border of reprimanding him for making such a noise, but she knows better and prioritizes locking the door again. Slowly, they creep towards the blinding light of the main stairwell.

"You saw that too, right?" the girl beside him whispers. No one is around, but the nerves are still tingling, and Harry does not look too closely into the hushed tone.

"Yeah," he affirms. "Yeah – what do you think, _why_ –"

" – do we even have something like it in the castle?" Hermione finishes with an almost derisive note. She shakes her head again as Harry feeds the portrait the passcode.

"Wonder why your books didn't mention a massive dog sleeping in the castle?" Harry throws as they follow the winding curves of Gryffindor entrance.

"It must be new," Hermione rolls her eyes. "It was standing on a trap door. Which means it wasn't there by accident. It's guarding something. What that something is? I don't know."

"Guarding something?" Harry echoes.

Hermione nods. "That's right, and that is all you will get from me, Harry, because I'm going to bed and forget this every happened before you come with another brilliant idea to get us killed, or worst – expelled."

"Expelled what?" Ron pops his head up from one of the couches in the common room. Surrounding him are unopened books and dried out inkwells. Seamus is also an addition to his backdrop with his head propped up on his palm and a splatter of dark ink smeared on his cheek. Not too far with him are the other male first years, Dean, Lee, and Neville, all seemingly immersed and accomplishing more than the two on the couch.

"Nothing," Hermione instantly snaps for the both of them. Although, she grimaces and pantomimes cleaning her skirt. "Harry will tell you, I mean," she corrects, to the chagrin of the boy. "Good night."

A quiet reprieve settles over the boys for a few seconds before Ron peeps up once more. "What she goin' on bout, Harry?"

The Boy Who Lived inspects the others within range of his words. "I'll tell you tomorrow morning, Ron. I take it dinner wasn't that good tonight?" he rolls back his shoulders as he joins the awakening Seamus and Ron on the couch.

The redhead shrugs. "It was the same as Monday's so we just grabbed a few things and went. You haven't eaten yet?"

"Professor Gibbins held me for a bit, and well, you know how he gets," Harry replies. "Wasn't feeling hungry after our talk anyway."

"You will be right before we head off to bed, though," Neville nods knowingly from his seat at the nearby table. He digs into his own canvas bag and produces a sandwich wrapped in multiple layers of napkins. Dean takes it to pass along to Harry.

"Thanks, Neville," he begins to unwrap the food. "How's your wrist?"

"It's fine," the boy answers. "It will be fine."

The roaring fireplace in front of them is casting shadows in Ron's heavy-lidded stare, and prevents Harry from unwrapping his meal. "Ron!" He cuts off Seamus' belligerent muttering and pops out of his seat. Meal in one hand and his pal's wrist in the other, he smother's Ron's cry with gibberish rambling about Hagrid and his newest investement.

He shoves him into the boy's dormitory. "What the bloody hell was that, Harry?" Ron snaps his wrist back and wraps his fingers over it. He backs into his bed and unceremoniously falls on it. "What were you and Hermione really up to?" He looks down at the dust-stained edges of Harry's cloak and black shoes.

"Remember the third floor?" Harry makes his way towards his own bed. He shrugs off his cloak and throws it over one of the wooden posts. He grabs at the accumulated dirt and dust, but gives up when he sees that beneath it, is a layer of one week's worth of walking. He sits on the trunk pushed against the foot of his bed.

"The third floor?" Ron repeats. " _The third-floor corridor?"_ His eyes widen. Ron throws himself back into his bed, allowing the momentum to propel him back up to face Harry. "You went there? With Granger? _Why?"_ Ron runs a hand through his hair. " _Why would even you go there, Harry?_ "

Harry casts a furtive glance at the door. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Of course," Ron says without hesitation.

"Hagrid has been acting suspicious since we got here," Harry relays. "That night when we were on the boat with him, didn't he stink to you?" Harry asks.

"Kind of, but I figured that was normal for him, y'know?" Ron scratches the bridge of his nose.

Harry lets out a choked laugh. "No, well _sometimes,_ but I kept trying to visit him the day after and it was only after a week that I was able to catch him –"

"He is the grounds caretaker, right?" Ron supplies.

"No," Harry shoots the reason down. "He's up to something, Ron – when I met with him, he kept me from staying in his hut too long and he's still hardly there now. There's something going on, Ron," Harry reasserts. "And Hermione and I found –" His ears perk up and he immediately shuts down as Seamus blunders into the dorm. His eyes squint at the two of them before he tackles the pillows on his bed and quickly drifts back to sleep.

Ron opens his mouth, but smartly closes it a second later. His eyebrows are creased together, but he is already up and reaching into his trunk for a towel and yesterday's pajamas. Harry stands too, but does not copy Ron's actions.

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow, Ron – I'm pretty beat for the day," he acquiesces.

* * *

A/N: Almost done with the 1st book~ Hope it's okay! Also, shamelessly self-promoting myself, but I also just posted a new _MarvelXDC crossover._ If there are any fans from either verse here, more so Marvel honestly, then feel free to go check it out! It's labeled "With Time" Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

The morning after, Ron is finally caught up and he's a bit peeved that Hermione was with Harry rather than him. He mockingly mimics her opening a book and correcting Sean's pronunciation on a spell from yesterday's charms class. She overhears, her ears heat, but otherwise, she remains on the borders of the group of girls that she sits next to. Sean worsens the situation by exaggerating on it, and finally, she snaps her book close and leaves. Harry berates him – both of them, but does not stand up to check on her. One of the girls do follow, and it isn't until the next class that do they see her again. Harry thinks he sees red-rimmed eyes and frizzier curls, but dismisses as not his responsibility to address. It truly is not his issue to take, but as the academic hours end and the chatter of students pick up, he cannot help but keep an eye out for the girl and notes that she is missing from the rising excitement.

"He – hey Pavarti," he calls out as just as everyone in the Common Room begin to head out for dinner. The dark-haired girl stops and turns around.

"Have you seen Hermione?" he asks, ignoring Ron's baffled expression. His friend shakes his inquiry off and heads on with Dean and the others to dinner. Pavarti fixes him a Ron.

"She's upset, Harry," she admits. "I think you should leave her alone for now," she turns to the calls of her other friends. "You've done enough as it is."

"But I haven't - !" Harry stops as Pavarti disappears through the doorway with the others. Harry frowns but eventually leaves and finds a seat saved by Ron and Neville. The festivities have already begun, the pumpkins already alight in the ceiling, but the gnawing guilt in his stomach has overridden his appetite and he faces the taller boy next to him. "Have you seen Hermione anywhere?" he asks Neville.

Neville flusters under the attention as Ron stops eating as well and waits for his response. "Pavarti Patil said that she wouldn't come out of the girl's bathroom. She said that she'd been in there the whole afternoon…" he actively avoids Ron's stare now. "Crying."

Harry exchanges glances with Ron who has the decency this time to swallow his pride and burn under his friend's critical glare. However, before he can berate him any further, one of their professor's blunders into the room, screaming.

"Troll!" They all identify him as Quirrell. "Trol! In the dungeon!" he reaches out for a student but trips over due to his long cloak. "Troll in the dungeon!" he cries, stooping over to catch his breath. There is an ensuing silence that seems to shake him further as the man raises his head once more. The delirious fire in his eyes have faded to give way to the prominent circles under his eyes. "Thought you should know," he mumbles before fainting.

The cathartic second passes before various students rise up, running and screaming. Neville, who is beside him, appears close to the brink of fainting like Quirrell and Harry reaches out to grasp the boy's arm, as if tethering him to the present reality they are in.

"Silence!" Dumbledore's soaring voice encompasses the whole room. The pumpkins fly higher and the lights return to their full strength, obliterating the shadows of the corners. "Everyone will please, not panic," the headmaster starts. "Now, Prefects will lead their houses back to the dormitories while the teachers will follow me to the dungeons."

Again, there is a pause, but Harry quickly spots a girl dressed in yellow rising up to stand on a bench. "Hufflepuff, this way!" she calls out, and soon, the other prefects follow suit, gathering all their houses into order. Harry notices that among the teachers, Snape is quick to disappear through a nearby doorway and that Hagrid is stationary, shock having frozen him in time.

Ron is quiet as Percy herds them out of the room and towards Gryffindor tower. "Keep up please! And stay alert!"

His friend finally breaks his silence. "You know, this all probably people playing jokes," he tells Harry. "Trolls are really stupid. They couldn't get into the castle. Not by itself, at least."

Harry nods but sends another sweeping gaze through their ranks. "Hermione!" It clicks, and he grabs Ron's shoulders and pulls him away from the line of Gryffindor. There are a few odd and petrified looks shot over their way, but otherwise, their classmates make no move to stop them or call Percy over to their running backs. "Hermione doesn't know about the troll!" He lets go of Ron as they head into a new hall and starts running down the stairs. Ron is left to trail behind him, but upon landing on the dungeon level of the castle, Harry hears a loud grunting noise and quickly skids into a corner. He grabs Ron's cloak just before he sprints past him and covers his mouth.

A large, sickly green troll makes the walls of the castle tremble as Harry spies him heading into a room. "He's going into the Girl's bathroom!" he hisses as he takes his hand off of Ron and runs after the troll.

He stops at the doorway, just an inch away from the broken wood. He spots and hears Hermione's screaming, as his eyes search for something to save her and them.

"Move, Hermione!' Ron has joined him and bends down to pick up a plank of wood. He hurls it at the troll and Harry instinctively follows his actions. They work together and are successful in gaining its attention, but still the troll is more focused on Hermione who has managed to dart under one of the sinks.

She is barely able to crawl under a new one before the troll's club swings down, sending ceramic and water up into the air. "Help!" Hermione screams.

Harry reaches down and pulls out his wand. He runs forward and grabs the troll's club just as it lifts it up. "Whoa! Ron!" He calls out. Harry lands atop the troll's head, and with the momentum, slides forward and accidentally shoves his wand into the troll's nose. The beast lets out a roar as he grabs Harry's leg and with the other hand, begins to swing his club at him.

Harry twists around and narrowly avoids the club, but his torso is aching, Hermione is still trapped and Ron is frozen in place. "Ron!" He shouts again. "Do something!"

The redhead fumbles for his wand and points it up at the troll.

"Swish and flick!" Hermione coaches, and Ron quickly registers the spell she is pushing him to use.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouts, and takes control of the club. Confused, the troll stops and turns to watch his weapon swing down on his head. Ron quickly lets go of the spell, and in unison, both the club and troll crash down into the bathroom floor, freeing Harry and the rest of them from any more immediate danger.

Hermione scrambles out from under the sink and goes over to help Harry up. Ron walks a few steps forward. "Is it," he stammers. "Is it dead?"

Harry thanks Hermione for her help and walks over to the troll and takes out his wand from its nose. "I don't think so – just knocked out," he grimaces as he examines his wand. It is covered in goo and snot. "Ew."

"Ha – Harry Potter!" The trio look up at see McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell rushing into the room. "Weasley! Granger!" She adds, slowly taking the scene into account. "E – explain yourselves, all three of you!"

Harry instinctively looks down. "Well, what it is –"

"It's my fault, Professor McGonagall," Hermione steps up, causing all eyes to sharply focus on her.

"Miss Granger?" Harry watches his Aunt beseech Hermione for a more elaborate clarification.

"I went looking for the troll," Hermione weaves out for all of them. "I'd read about them and I thought I could handle it, but if Harry and Ron hadn't come and found me," she pauses. "I'd probably be dead."

Next to him, Ron his at a loss for words. Harry watches as McGonagall casts one last sweeping look at them and at the troll. He also catches Snape's wounded leg, and his eyes narrow before returning to his aunt.

"Be that as it may, it was an extremely foolish thing to do. I would like to deplore this irrational behavior, Miss Granger, especially from you. I expected better judgement on your part, not theirs," she makes a point by fixing both himself and Ron an inscrutable stare. "You two gentleman, I hope you realize how fortunate you are. Nor many students could take on a full grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale, but –" she shakes her head, and it appears that her words have narrowed down to be directed mostly at Harry now. "This was only accomplished through sheer dumb luck. Ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for your lack of serious judgement, but five will be returned for your miraculous accomplishment. Now, I would suggest you three leave before it wakes up."

She turns toward Snape. "Go fetch Hagrid, will you? We'll need his help."

Seeing McGonagall's determined attempt to ignore them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exit the bathroom. However, just as Hermione makes to ascend the stairs, Harry tugs her back and nods over towards the end of the hall. He knows of a back exit there, and beckons both Hermione and Ron to follow him quietly.

The two exchange glances but follow. Only when they have pushed past the door and exited into the open air do they fire questions at Harry.

"Are you insane? What are you doing?" Hermione crosses her arms as Harry continues to push through the darkness. Ron stays by her side.

"Like she said! We just go out of trouble, Harry!" Ron is also tired. He leans against the castle wall and waits for Harry to recognize that both he and Hermione are not by his side.

"Listen," his friend finally turns to face them. "This is our chance to get into Hagrid's hut. He never locks the door, and he won't be back for a while until they get that troll business sorted out."

"Hagrid's hut?" Hermione echoes.

"Harry's suspicious of Hagrid," Ron surmises, but finds that he is off the wall and back to following Harry's strides. He sighs as Hermione joins them. They trek along the wall for a bit until the faint glow of the dying fire outside of Harry's hut reaches their view. Harry motions them to wait in the shadows as he spots Hagrid's large form trudging along by Snape's side. It is only when both of them have turned into specks on the horizon does he turn into a run. He easily hushes Fang's starting growl and lets Hermione and Ron blitz past him and into the hut.

"Whoa," Ron eyes the large bed and chair. He walks over the latter and sits on it. "Whoa!" He exclaims as he sinks deeper than expected into the seat. Hermione rolls her eyes at him as she walks over to one of the wooden tables and inspects the objects scattered on it.

"Just what exactly are we looking for, Harry?" Hermione asks as he joins them.

Harry walks around the relatively crowded hut, bypassing Ron and the bed to join Hermione at the table. He quickly looks over the contents before heading over to the shelves lined with jars and paperwork. "A letter, note – anything about that three-headed dog we saw the other night."

"You think Hagrid's responsible for it?" Hermione is doubtful, but she aids him as she filters through any documents she can find. Ron bends over in his seat and unceremoniously falls to his knees from the height. He stays there though and peers under the chair. With a leap of faith, he reaches out with a blind hand and gropes through the darkness.

He feels cobwebs, cringes, but pursues through the unknown. His fingers brush past something promising and he goes back and pulls the object out. "Bloody hell," he examines the large bone and Harry and Hermione reconvene to join him in his findings.

"Why would Hagrid have that? It can't be for Fang, can it?" Hermione turns to Harry.

He shakes his head. "Fang is too small, even for that bone. Put it back, Ron," he sighs. "I don't think we'll find anything here."

Ron obeys as Hermione walks over to a tall window and peers out to look at the castle. "Hagrid is coming bac- whoa!" she jumps back as she spots the trail of miniature spiders crawling out from the crack of the window.

"That's a lot of those horrid bloody things," Ron shudders, taking an involuntary step back.

"They look like they are heading over to the woods," Hermione comments.

"Yeah, let's not follow that lead, right Harry?" Ron looks expectantly at his compatriot and is relieved to see him nod his head.

"Let's head back, guys."

"Yes, let's," Hermione agrees. "You're probably just overthinking things, Harry."

The said boy makes a noncommittal noise as they sneak out through the back door and creep back towards their dorm.

The next morning, Hermione and Ron have resolved their differences and flank Harry as he twirls his breakfast around his plate. "Take a bit of toast, mate," Ron cajoles. "You're gonna need your strength today."

Harry lets out a sigh and looks up at the long table. Most of the professors never make the habit of spending their mornings with them, but Hagrid is usually the outlier. However, this morning, he is absent and despite his misgivings over Hagrid's recent conduct over the few weeks, he would have still preferred his reassurance the morning before his first game. Unfortunately, at Ron's frozen movements, he looks up and sees Snape instead as his replacement.

"Good luck today, Potter," the man says. "Then again, now that you've proven yourself against a troll, a little game of Quidditch should be easy work for you. Even if it is against Slytherin," he says as he continues to exit the feast hall.

"That's why he was bleeding," Harry comments as he notices the professor limp.

"Bleeding?" Hermione turns around to try and catch another sight of Snape, but he is already gone.

Harry bends his head down as the two of his friends press closer to heart him. "Last night, I'm guessing Snape might have let the troll in as a diversion so he could try and get past that three-headed dog. But instead, he got himself bitten and that's why he's limping."

Hermione leans away and returns to her food. "But why would anyone aside from Hagrid go near that dog?"

"Because its protecting something. Listen," Harry repeats, but more to Hermione. He has already told Ron about this the previous night. "When I was at Gringotts with Hagrid, he took something out of one of the vaults. He said it was Hogwart's business, very secret," he explained.

Hermione is silent in reply, brows furrowed as she contemplates his words. Ron looks up as something screeches towards them.

"It's Hedwig," Harry's eyes widen.

"With mail, looks like it," Ron comments.

"I never get mail though," Harry pushes his plate aside as she drops a parcel onto his table. She ignores his extending arm and watches as she lands on McGonagall instead. She is silent, her gaze on the owl as she strokes her.

"Let's open it," Ron reaches over for one of the strings. Harry follows and grabs another, and as a pair they tear through the wrapping to unravel a broomstick.

"I – it's it's –"

"It's the Nimbus 2000, Harry!" Ron exclaims.

Harry looks up again to search for McGonagall, but sees that she is gone along with his bird.

"Harry!" He turns and spots Evangeline bounding towards him. She spots the new broom and lets out a sharp whistle. "Wow, what a beauty you have there. Are you ready for your first official game?" she nods a greeting to both Ron and Hermione.

"I think so," he replies then glances back at the room. "I should be now."

Evangeline laughs and ruffles his hair. He feebly tries to fight of her hand, but she is resilient and lets off once she is sure all ends are sticking up in different directions. "Well with the –"

"Harry!" The said boy and the rest of his friends turn to see his Quidditch captain striding towards them. He is already completely garbed in the uniform with his own broom in hand. He stops half-a-foot away when his eyes refocus and finally notice Ron and Hermione and –

"Evangeline," there is a recognition that Harry is slightly wary of that glints in Wood's eyes, but otherwise, the said girl makes not inclination in recognizing nor defining it for him.

"Wood," she nods. She spins back on Harry and gives his hair one last ruffle. "Good luck on your first game! Make me proud!" And before he or apparently Wood know, she is skipping back to the Ravenclaw table where a seat is magically opened up for her to take.

"Is it time?" Harry asks as Wood returns his focus on him.

His captain nods. "Nervous?"

"Just a little bit."

* * *

A/N: Is she going to take another break? Possibly. There might be no update next week, but rest assuredly there will not be a hiatus as long as the previous one.

On another note, I will admit that I've been feeling lackluster with this story - primarily because I let it run in a direction where I realize I am stuck writing every detail for the first year. I will be fixing that once the first book ends and we shall be progressing much faster.


End file.
